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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

THREE GREEK TALES. 



i6mo, pp. 173. Price, $1. 
The Geo. M. Allen Company. 



PRESS COMMENTS. 

REVIEW OF REVIEWS. 

The three tales which compose this little volume 
have been previously published in the Hartford 
Post. " The author frankly acknowledges himself 
a disciple of the romantic school," and his stories 
have the dreamy, remote atmosphere which he has 
aimed to produce. There is much beauty in these 
pale, pathetic creations and they have doubtless a 
certain affinity with the scenery of Greece, as Mr. 
Dodge suggests. It is the present day Greece of a 
modern man's imagination, however, and we must 
not take the title " Greek Tale," as at all applic- 
able to the stories in the classical sense. They 
might in some truth be compared in style with Mr. 
Winter's poems. 

NEW YORK COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER. 

* * * They are, all three, quiet, unpretentious, 
gracefully told stories that almost all classes of 
readers will enjoy. 

NEW YORK RECORDER. 

* * * i n method and scene alike the book is a 
pleasing variation from the conventional. 

TOWN TOPICS. 
There is a charm in Walter Phelps Dodge's 
wk Three Greek Tales" wholly in keeping with the 
classic scenery in which they are laid and the 
classical associations it suggests. Of those fair 
isles, dear alike to the artist and the litterateur^ 
story and picture each take on qualities borrowed 
from its rival, and these tales of modern Greek life 
are enjoyable largely for their picturesque setting. 

NEW YORK TELEGRAM. 

* * * A young author could hardly have a 
more auspicious introduction to the public than this 
small volume gives. If there is no realism or pre- 
tence to analysis of character, there is something 
far better and rarer, in these days of over-stuffed 
and over-seasoned "roast and boiled "—there are 
characters that stand out and that live and breathe - 
by reason of a few fine outlines of suggestiveness. 

NEW YORK WORLD. 

* * * Love stories, all of them, well told in 
the main. 



AS THE CROW FLIES 



FROM CORSICA TO 
CHARING CROSS 



BY 

WALTER PHELPS DODGE 

Author of "Three Greek Tales" 



(V 



A 



NEW YORK '<l QvA$Hm 
GEO. M. ALLEN COMPANY' /' 
i8 9 3 



Copyright, 1893 
GEO. M. ALLEN COMPANY 

New York 






Ai'i 



•&<A 



THE ALLEY-ALLEN PRESS, NEW YORK 



TO MY FATHER 

D. STUART DODGE 



Acknowledgment is made 

to the Editors of the Hartford Post 

and the Hartford Courant ; 

in whose papers these letters first 

appeared 



INDEX 



Introduction 


PAGE 

7 


A Glimpse of Corsica .... 


■ 9 


Along the Riviera ..... 


17 


San Remo 


29 


The City of Palaces .... 


40 


The Napoleonic Legend . . . 


49 


A Devonshire Market Town 


62 


Oxford 


68 


The English Littoral . . . 


76 


A Day at Windsor . . . . 


81 


Scarborough 


89 




94 


Windermere ..... 


105 


Sandringham House 


112 


The Latter-day Jacobites . . 


122 




INTRODUCTION 

[N Summer, particularly in trav- 
elling, one is very apt to 
prefer a simple glass of ice- 
cold lemonade — not too 
sweet, — to a bumper of burgundy 
or a tankard of ale ; and it has 
been the author's experience that 
the mental processes are not unlikely 
to follow the example of the physical, 
in this particular. For this reason 
he is encouraged to submit these 
slight sketches of divers persons and 
places to an indulgent public. 

He may say that the sketch en- 
titled " Sandringham House " has 
been submitted to the highest author- 
ity, and that its substance is approved 
by the Personage with whom it is 
chiefly concerned. 

W. P. D. 

New York, 
April ist, 1893. 




As the Crow Flies. 




A GLIMPSE OF CORSICA. 

,ASTIA. — Nice is too attrac- 
tive to leave without regret 
at any time, and we felt 
particularly sorry for our- 
selves one evening towards 
six o'clock when we saw the disrepu- 
table little tub of a steamer that was 
to take us over to Corsica ; and as we 
penetrated the odourous mysteries of 
the cabin we devoutly hoped that we 
might see Bastia in the morning with- 
out foundering, for the berths were 
suspiciously like the long, narrow 
coffin shelves in family vaults and 
had been built apparently for child- 
ren, so cribbed, cabined and confined 
were their proportions. We said 
little as we put away our portman- 
teaux and cameras and took our rugs 
from the strap, but our looks spoke 
volumes and we were careful to 
sprinkle plenty of Keating's powder 
about the place. 



IO AS THE CROW FLIES. 

A fine, drizzling rain soon began 
and we were compelled, much to our 
disgust, to leave the comparatively 
unobjectionable deck where sturdy, 
bare-legged sailor boys were shouting 
and singing and throwing ropes and 
chains about to no apparent end. As 
soon as we had reached the depths 
of the noisome little cabin, dinner 
was served, and oh, the mockery of 
that dinner! Everything was scented 
with garlic, and when the flavour of 
that questionable delicacy was absent 
it was replaced by the taste of rancid 
oil. We did not sit the meal out, 
and although it was barely nine 
o'clock, threw ourselves on our 
shelves to try and forget the too 
perceptible motion as the little boat 
quitted the sheltering harbour of 
Nice. * Although the sea was calm 
enough, the small size of the boat 
unconsciously suggested the idea of 
a rough sea. 

Our sleep was more or less broken 
— generally more, and at six we were 
awakened by a fiendish blast of the 
whistle which was near our berths, to 
an overpowering sense of certain 
strange and gruesome odours. The 
cabin had been hermetically closed 
on account of the rain, and on the 
floor about the tables were stretched 
in various attitudes of abandon sev- 
eral human forms, who proceeded 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



to rise and shake themselves. It is 
needless to say we had thrown our- 
selves down fully dressed, and we 
made a sudden rush for the compan- 
ion way, for if ever there was an 
odour that could be cut it was the 
one in the tightly closed little cabin 
of that dirty little steamer off Bastia 
in the rainy, chill darkness of that 
December morning. 

A hasty fee to the steward — and the 
next moment saw us on the quay at 
Bastia, holding fast to our valises, 
threatened by a ragged mob of urch- 
ins who would have had but little 
respect for the doctrine of meum and 
tuum. We scrambled into a musty, 
damp hotel 'bus and, half asleep still, 
were rattled over the badly-paved 
streets to our hotel. And what a 
hotel ! We were received in a 
mouldy courtyard by an antiquated 
porter in undress uniform, with a 
farthing tallow dip, who gruffly in- 
formed us that we could get no coffee 
for two hours and who then ushered 
us upstairs to the grimy little room 
reserved for us. I don't know yet 
how high the hotel was, but it seemed 
as if we were never to reach the top 
as we struggled after that wavering 
candle. No wonder tourists who 
think nothing of a run to Colombo 
or Aden or a trip to New Zealand 
shudder at the thought of doing 



12 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Corsica or Sardinia, for anything 
more uncivilized than the ways of 
getting there I have never seen. 

The time passed drearily on as 
we waited in the cold, stone-floored 
room, but eight o'clock finally came 
and we hurried down eager for coffee 
and eggs. The dining room was sni 
generis and the cloth and napkins 
were not above reproach, but we 
managed to make out a fair meal 
with the exception of the bread, 
which was hard and sour ; and then 
sallied out to do the town. 

Bastia is rather a decent town to 
the view and the architecture is solid 
and not altogether in the flimsy 
stucco of Italy. There are no hand- 
some public buildings, except the 
theatre, which is built on the lines of 
an old Greek temple. In the square 
on the water front, where the raw 
recruits are drilled, is a huge statue 
of the first Napoleon in the toga and 
laurel wreath of a Roman Consul. 
It is of heroic size and dazzlingly 
white and seems to dominate every- 
thing in its immediate neighbour- 
hood. Of course the Corsicans are 
inordinately proud of Napoleon, and 
one cannot converse for five minutes 
with an ordinary inhabitant without 
his remarking nonchalantly that 
Corsica has produced the greatest 
military genius of the world. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



The islanders are a curious cross 
between the French and Italian types, 
perhaps inclining more to the latter. 
The language is a patois of French 
and Italian, with a few Spanish words, 
and is hard to comprehend, but any- 
one understanding good Italian can 
easily manage. It is really yet a 
question to what country Corsica 
should strictly belong, for it has 
tasted the rule of many nations. It 
knew the yoke of both the Roman 
and Byzantine Empires, and belonged 
in turn to the Republics of Genoa 
and Pisa in the middle ages ; when 
the short-lived King Theodore raised 
the standard of revolt, too soon 
lowered. Then the patriot, Pasquale 
Paoli, ruled the island from 1755 to 
1769, when the Genoese transferred 
their claim to the island to France, 
which has since annexed it. 

It is absurd to say that Vendetta 
has died out, for it is still popular in 
the island to an almost incredible 
extent, and anyone refusing to con- 
tinue a blood feud when his plain 
duty would be to avenge his ancestor 
would soon have the Rimbecco sung 
under his windows. A thirst for 
blood seems ingrained in the Corsi- 
can nature, and few families in either 
the upper or lower classes of the 
island are without their hereditary 
feud. This custom is said to be 



14 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

worse now than under the Second 
Empire, and is particularly prevalent 
round about Corte. It originated 
when the Genoese ruled the island 
and male members were obliged to 
take the honour of their family into 
their own keeping. There are sev- 
eral strict laws in existence enacted 
against this barbarous practice, but 
they have fallen into disuse and are 
unregarded. 

I have several times been asked 
what the principal industry of Bastia 
was. The only answer that occurs to 
me is to say stilettoes, for really all 
the shops seem to have inexhaustible 
supplies of this keen, murderous little 
blade. Not only are they sold in the 
guise of weapons, but as charms, as 
brooches, as sleeve buttons, as scarf 
pins — in coral, lava, gold, silver and 
brass. Even the pawnbrokers dis- 
play second-hand stilettoes in their 
windows, several of them covered 
with a rust that has been blood. To 
a stranger, all this gives Bastia a 
savage air, and when he thinks 
of the hotels and the food he is apt 
to start for the station or the dock. 
But Vendetta is confined strictly to 
local affairs, and it is very rare to 
find a case where strangers have 
been brought into family feuds. 
The literature of Vendetta is rich. 
The famous " Corsican Brothers," 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 15 

" Mr. Barnes of New York," Marie 
Corelli's " Vendetta," and Prosper 
Merrimee's delightful " Colomba " 
all dwell on the subject. 

But besides Vendetta, which exists 
only in this island ; Corsica shares 
with Sardinia the honour of being the 
only place in Europe where the 
moufflon is now found, and so attracts 
numbers of English sportsmen, who, 
however, land usually at Ajaccio. 
Few tourists reach Bastia. Ajaccio 
is a sort of health resort, modeled 
after the places on the Riviera and 
is only a second-rate imitation at 
best ; but Bastia is a quiet, semi- 
commercial little town, on the sea, 
with huge mountains at its back, and 
content to dream away its time in 
ignorant obscurity. All traces of the 
old island costumes have disappeared 
and one does not know whether to 
be amused or sad at the pathetic 
attempt to imitate French- fashions. 
The older streets in Bastia are curi- 
ous. They differ from those of most 
old Italian towns in being paved with 
large, flat stones and are kept scrupu- 
lously clean, showing their French 
origin. The old citadel, built in 
1383, is worth a visit for the sake of 
its curious walls. In poking about 
among the old curiosity shops I un- 
earthed a valuable souvenir. It was 
an old bronze medal, bearing on one 



l6 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

side " Louis Napoleon Bonaparte," 
with his portrait, and on the other 
" Pour Valeur." It had evidently 
been given as a reward of valor by 
Napoleon III. in the eventful two 
years when he was Prince-President, 
before the coup d'etat, and I have 
since ascertained its rarity. A drive 
in the country about Bastia shows a 
landscape rich in hills and pines, but 
in nothing else. 

A diligent search among the gro- 
cers' shops finally unearthed a tin 
of " picnic tongue," and we feasted 
on that and on some Albert biscuits 
to save ourselves a return to the too 
odourous hotel dining room. We did 
not regret sailing for Sardinia that 
night, as we hoped to find there 
what we had missed in Corsica — 
clean beds and decent food. 





ALONG THE RIVIERA. 




?ANNES,— Any one with a 
liking for titles, that is, 
English titles, which are 
the only ones worth hav- 
ing, is sure to be grati- 
fied at Cannes. For Cannes is like 
Bournemouth, select and expensive. 
At the Prince de Galles Hotel in 
Cannes the other day, when the reg- 
ister was brought to me to sign, I 
noticed that for five pages mine was 
the only name of a commoner. 
Earls were as thick as blackberries 
and there were Viscounts galore. 
This explains why so few, compara- 
tively, are met with at the other 
Riviera resorts. Cannes is par ex- 
cellence an English resort, and woe 
betide the bourgeois Frenchman or 
spectacled German who innocently 
happens upon one of its mammoth 
hotels ; and many are the shivers 
that shake his y<2^r-clothed frame at 
the numerous open windows and de- 
lightful draughts of fresh air that 
are so home-like to an Englishman 
or a civilized American. 

Like Bournemouth, Cannes is rich 
in pines and poor in shops and cabs. 
But here every one brings their own 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



turn-out, and few teams are to be 
seen without both footman and 
coachman in some well-known Lon- 
don livery. For amusements Cannes 
is a poor place, that is, for theatres ; 
but there, is plenty of tennis, which 
one may, if properly introduced, 
play with Russian Grand-Duchesses 
or Austrian Archdukes ; and the 
Grand Duke Michael is working up 
some excitement over golf links. 
He did me the honour to ask for my 
subscription, but as I am not in 
Cannes en permanence I was not 
obliged to subscribe. One can go to 
twenty teas in an afternoon, if one 
is so disposed, and " pique -niqnes" 
dances and dinners are almost too 
numerous to count. At Rumpel- 
mayer's the " Hig-lif" of Cannes, as 
the French call it, is to be met be- 
tween five and six o'clock, when 
most of the habitues of Rotten Row 
happen in for a cup of the delicious 
chocolate tempered with whipped 
cream of which Rumpelmayer makes 
a specialty. All the villa owners at 
Cannes (for there are very few villas 
rented here ; if one wants a house 
in Cannes one must build it) send to 
Regent Street for whatever they 
want, consequently no shops at 
Cannes but those making a specialty 
of kitchen necessaries or provisions 
have any raison d'etre and they are 



AS THE CROW FLIES. ig 

not missed. Most of the hotels 
have good libraries, and one can 
lounge away days in the palm- 
shaded garden, watching the sun- 
shine dance and sparkle upon the 
rich blue sea. There is a restful 
feeling about Cannes, an aristo- 
cratic repose and seclusion not 
shared by any of the other resorts 
on the coast, except, perhaps, in a 
modified degree, by San Remo ; and 
physicians say the air here is not so 
stimulating as at Nice and Mentone. 
Of course, it is not so stimulating 
as at Monte Carlo, either, but that is 
for a different reason ! 

No one can get a footing at Cannes 
unless their social record is unassail- 
able, and as it costs a small fortune to 
live here for even a week, objection- 
able people are kept away, and one 
does not meet the cockney Londoner 
who drops his h's promiscuously 
or the shoddy American who speaks 
with a twang and is always looking 
for a spittoon. Even the cooking is 
English at Cannes, and cold "ros-bif " 
and pickles with a tankard of ale and 
a bit of apple tart (than which there 
is no more palatable luncheon) often 
forms the meal of some hearty party 
of Britons. One leaves Cannes with 
regret ; and a sigh for its quiet pleas- 
ures as one is whirled into the noisy, 
huge station at Nice. 



.20 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

One finds here a very different at- 
mosphere. All is gaiety, noise and 
bustle. Splendid shops thrust their 
wonderfully arranged windows upon 
one's notice. Redfern's name ap- 
pears in. gilt with the Prince of 
Wales' plumes above it, and many 
names familiar to frequenters of the 
Paris jewellers' shops are met with. 
Strolling along the Quai Massena 
one could spend hours simply look- 
ing in the shop windows at pearl pins 
marked at ^1,000, or at some little 
pink emerald worth a fortune simply 
because it does not happen to be 
green. And the famous Galignani 
library is not to be ignored, with its 
fascinating display of all the latest 
London books and the Christmas 
numbers of the English papers 
with their half-hidden pictures of 
Santa Claus ; nor the huge Casino 
and Winter Garden where one pays 
two francs for a ticket of admission, 
good for the whole day, where read- 
ing-rooms and the latest telegrams 
of Reuter's Agency tempt one to 
settle down for several hours. 
There, in the domed central garden, 
among hundreds of palms and trop- 
ical plants, one can listen to a cap- 
ital band while having an ice from 
the Nice Bignon's. 

There, too, one may see a good 
exhibition of marionettes, a sort of 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



glorified Punch and Judy show, 
where all the gilded infancy of Nice 
congregates to enjoy the fun. And 
one can waste hours over the petits 
chevaux ; where, on a huge, green- 
clothed table, six small horses are 
wound up, and race around a circle, 
bets being made upon the colour and 
number of the winner. In the 
height of the season the manage- 
ment is said to make 3,000 francs 
per day out of this simple amuse- 
ment. At the far end of this pleas- 
ant Jardin d'Hiver is the entrance 
to the small play-house connected 
with it ; but the companies who per- 
form here are not above reproach ; 
except during Carnival, when no ex- 
pense is spared to secure the best 
talent, and the Paris play-houses are 
called upon to contribute their best 
actors for the edification of the vis- 
itors. A stroll among the Nice 
shops in the evening is delightful, in 
the warm balmy air, with the moon- 
light over all and the echo of some 
mandolin concert in the distance. 
One can listen to street musicians in 
this sunny land without any fear of 
hearing "Comrades" or "Ask a 
P'leeceman," and may even reason- 
ably expect something decent in the 
way of selections from "Carmen" 
or " Dinorah," both of which are 
prime favorites among the lower 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



classes. Nice has long bad a muni- 
cipal theatre, but this is not well sup- 
ported, and the most flourishing es- 
tablishment of this sort in the town 
is a huge music hall or cafe concert, 
which does a roaring business. 
Sweet-shops abound in Nice and are 
a never-ending surprise to English 
folk, who very sensibly pat them 
down to the increasing number of 
Americans who come here. A huge 
Casino has just been built on the end 
of a long pier stretching out into the 
sea, and they tell an amusing tale of 
the way in which the gambling privi- 
lege was secured. An unsuccessful 
appeal had been made to the Mayor, 
M. Henry, and the speculators were 
in despair until it suddenly occurred 
to them that their establishment was 
not on land, but at sea, and so they 
appealed to the Minister of Marine 
at Paris with better success. 
Charming drives abound in every 
direction around Nice, and coaches 
go over to Monte Carlo every few 
hours. There is but one drawback 
to Nice as a place of residence — 
the increased number of the de- 
scendants of Israel who are making 
it a seaside synagogue. Fashion 
has deserted it for Cannes, but it 
will always be the favoured resort 
of the gay and the bored — those 
who do not care for society, and 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 23 



for whom society does not care. 
The change to the small station of 
Monte Carlo and the gaudily-orna- 
mented lift that slowly rises to the 
bluff above is marked. For pure 
luxury and the highest degree of 
comfort Monte Carlo ranks next to 
Paris. Take the Hotel de Paris, 
next the Casino, for instance, an es- 
tablishment owned and conducted 
by the Casino company. Soft vel- 
vet carpets into which one's foot 
sinks, Wedgwood toilet sets, and 
easy chairs that would not look 
out of place in Belgravia, are the 
distinguishing characteristics of the 
bedrooms ; and there is not a gas 
lamp in the place ; hundreds of little 
wax candles, each shaded by a deep 
red shade, give light ; and when one 
is enjoying the cooking, which is a 
dream in itself, and drinking in all 
the beauty and elegance, it is hard to 
remember that one is in what has 
been called the most wicked place on 
earth. The Bishop of Gibraltar con- 
siders it so abandoned, in fact, that 
he has refused to license a Chaplain 
or consecrate a Church — queer logic 
on His Lordship's part, who seems to 
go on the principle that the worse 
the place the less necessity for a 
Church. And yet the villa holders 
of Monte Carlo form a very respect- 
able class. The late Mr. Junius 



24 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Morgan had a villa here and many 
other well-known names might be 
cited. The place is charmingly 
small and centres round about the 
immense and beautiful Casino. Ask 
the inhabitants of the Principality of 
Monaco what they think of the 
Casino and the gambling company. 
They will reply that it is an unmixed 
blessing. For the company pays 
the taxes of the little realm, keeps all 
the roads and public works in good 
repair ; and poverty is almost un- 
known. The inhabitants are allowed 
to enter the gambling rooms but one 
day in the year — on the fete day of 
the Prince of Monaco. Strangers 
gain admission to the rooms by pre- 
sentation of their visiting cards, and 
without them are not allowed en- 
trance. • A droll tale is told of the 
application of this rule to the Mar- 
quis of Salisbury. He was going to 
the rooms with a party and not hav- 
ing any visiting card with him was 
stopped by the gigantic doorkeeper. 
He was somewhat angry at this and 
drew himself up, saying, in very 
English French : " Mais j'ai ne pas 
besoin d'une carte de visite. Je suis le 
Marquis de Salisbury, Premier d'An- 
gleterre" But the doorkeeper still 
refused and would not let him in. 
He afterwards explained his incre- 
dulity by saying to a friend : " How 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



could I believe he was Milord Salis- 
bury and the Prime Minister of 
England? He wore a tweed suit 
and had his trousers turned up." 
This brother evidently derived his 
idea of the appearance of a Marquis 
from the Italian article of that name, 
which is usually greasy, and fear- 
fully and wonderfully attired. 

The Casino at Monte Carlo and 
its tables have been often described ; 
but the crowds that linger three 
deep about the green cloth are al- 
ways fascinating to watch. Grande 
dames and cocottes elbow each other, 
and English statesmen rub shoul- 
ders with Parisian blacklegs. The 
day I was there I saw the Due de 
Dino (who married Mrs. Stevens, 
of New York,) philosophically drop 
^2,000, and stand it better than 
a young man who lost five francs 
at roulette. But the saddest thing 
of all was to see young girls of eight- 
een or twenty (the rule is not to 
admit anyone under twenty-one, but 
of course the officials are often hood- 
winked) with "systems," pressing 
close to the table and pricking num- 
ber after number on their cards as 
they eagerly follow a run on the red 
or the black. These people are 
always sure they will some day break 
the bank, and linger on from day to 
day and from week to week leaving 



.26 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

whole fortunes in the maw of the re- 
morseless " Administration." Each 
additional week seems to add to the 
strained, eager look in their eyes, 
the drawn, pinched look about the 
mouth, and the tell-tale wrinkles 
about the temples that proclaim an 
habitual gambler. The croupiers, 
too, are curious studies, as they 
whirl the ball or deal the cards that 
mean so much to the eager crowd ; 
cool, calm, impassive, there is some- 
thing devilish about the monotonous 
way in which they call " Faites vos 
jeux, Messieurs" or " Le jeu est fait. 
Rien ne va plus." Some of them, it 
is easy to see, have come down in the 
world ; and one man was shown to 
me who had filled a high position 
in a crack British regiment, before 
he had been detected cheating at 
cards and had been ruined for life. 
I may not give his name or all the 
facts in the case, but it bore a strik- 
ing resemblance to Sir William Gor- 
don-Cummings' "accident." 

There is a peculiar class of harp- 
ies in the Casino, but very well 
dressed harpies, who make their liv- 
ing by "living up " to the table, so 
to speak, and grabbing the winnings 
of the lucky but slow players. Enor- 
mous sums are lost in this way by 
careless winners, for the ball (in rou- 
lette) rolls so quickly around, and 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 27 

the croupiers toss the gold so quickly 
in the general direction of the win- 
ners, that a very quick eye is needed 
to spy one's property. The " Se'rie 
Noir" has already begun at Monte 
Carlo, and two suicides have oc- 
curred. Of course the "Administra- 
tion" policy is to hush up these little 
matters, and whenever a dead body is 
found in the lonely gardens surround- 
ing the Casino (about one a fortnight 
is the average during the season) its 
pockets are pretty sure to be filled 
with gold and notes, placed there by 
the wily detectives of the Casino, to 
show that the poor man could not 
have shot himself on account of his 
losses at play. And rumour says that 
they have an admirably prompt way 
of getting rid of the bodies of those 
who are thoughtless enough to com- 
mit suicide on the company's grounds 
without noise or scandal. An eye 
witness told me the following tale of 
a tragedy in the rooms last year, 
which he vouches for : about ten 
o'clock at night, when everything 
was in full swing and the rooms were 
crowded with well-dressed people (no 
shabby-looking character is ever ad- 
mitted ; and the devil in this case is 
certainly " in society "), a shot was 
suddenly heard, and a handsome 
young fellow, pale as death, stag- 
gered from the Trente et Quarante 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



table with his hand to his bleeding 
side. He fell with a crash, and at 
once, like lightning, a crowd of the 
Casino detectives had closed around 
him, opened a window overlooking 
the sea, and thrown him out upon 
the rocks below. So quickly did 
this take place that not six people 
saw it, and the people who inquired 
about the disturbance were told that 
a lady had fainted from the heat and 
from the explosion in a gas pipe. 
The next morning the dead body of 
the young man was found on the 
rocks, with his pockets filled with gold 
and no trace of a wound about him. 
Lovely Monte Carlo ! It is like a 
decayed lady-apple — lovely to look 
on, but rotten at the core. 





SAN REMO. 

AN REMO.— There is a 
certain apparent similar- 
ity between Bournemouth 
and San Remo. Both are 
"winter resorts" and 
both are popular with invalids. But 
this similarity is only apparent. Frost 
and snow were rife at Bournemouth 
a month ago. Sunshine and ripe 
oranges on the trees are en evidence 
at San Remo now. One shudders 
here, to think of Bournemouth in 
winter, just as in Bournemouth the 
idea of the Lake District out of 
summer was repelling. 

The climate of the Riviera is not 
perfect, by any means, but unless 
one goes to Honolulu or to "the 
Cape," it is hard to do better for the 
winter. And yet it is not a tropical 
climate — or even sub-tropical, simply 
one with a more or less genial 
warmth in the winter time. 

San Remo is not so "mixed" in 
its society as Nice, so renowned for 
suicides as Monte Carlo, or so vault- 
like as Mentone. 

Cannes is the only place on the 
coast that approaches San Remo 
(and, indeed, outdoes it, so far as 



30 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

exclusiveness in the " English Col- 
ony/' which includes the small 
American contingent, goes) ; but 
Cannes is really a slice cut out of 
Belgravia and set down by the Med- 
iterranean, and one may be in the 
height of the London Season all 
winter there. Cannes is popularly 
referred to as the " Dukeries," on 
account of the number of English 
Dukes spending the winter there. 
But to a person liking society in 
moderation with a few good dances 
sprinkled in during the winter and a 
fair amount of tennis, San Remo is 
an ideal place. Knickerbockers and 
cricketing flannels are frequently 
seen, and there is none of that striv- 
ing after effect so much found at 
Cannes, where top hats and frock 
coats are de rigeitr most of the time. 

San Remo is near the French 
frontier and so, of course, is a queer 
mixture of French and Italian vil- 
lage life (for it has only seventeen 
thousand inhabitants). It is thirty- 
six hours from London and easily 
reached either by the P. L. and M. 
Railway, by way of Lyons and Mar- 
seilles, or by Milan and Geneva, via 
the Mont-Cenis tunnel. 

The old town, or Citta Vecchia, 
is built on a hill away from the sea, 
and the steep streets are crowded to- 
gether pell-mell on the nearly perpen- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



dicular hillside. Bradshaw's Guide 
refers to them as "steep, mediaeval 
streets"; but, although I admit the 
steepness, I have never discovered the 
medievalism — unless the abundant 
dirt and endless supply of unsavoury 
smells may be taken to represent it. 
Of course, the dark, narrow lanes are 
garlic-haunted, and that reminds me 
of a story I heard here. At the old 
Cathedral, an English priest was 
talking to an Italian peasant woman 
about the next world. She was giv- 
ing her ideas on the subject and 
ended up a glowing rhapsody in this 
way: "And, oh, our Holy Father, 
the Pope, will be there on a great 
golden throne, smiling at the faith- 
ful ; with big bunches of our angelic 
garlic under his chair to give to 
each of his flock as St. Peter brings 
them to him." If that idea of Para- 
dise were presented to many good 
Christians, I fear their faith might 
be shaken, for of all the sickening, 
clinging odours, a whiff of garlic- 
scented air is the worst. 

This old town is nearly devoid of 
interest. There are even no curio 
shops, and after one walk the aver- 
age English tourist comes back to 
his hotel to "take a tub," and leaves 
its mysteries undisturbed in future. 
To any one, however, brave enough 
to pick his way through the over- 



32 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

hanging alleys and dark streets, up 
to the very top of the hill, an old 
church presents itself, the " Ma- 
donna della Costa," where there is a 
wonderful picture of the Virgin which 
is supposed to be a certain cure for 
leprosy. (The method of applying 
the cure is an unsolved mystery.) 

Most people here go to Mentone 
to get gloves and stockings, and 
smuggle them back over the fron- 
tier to avoid paying the absurd 
prices asked in San Remo. The 
new town is built at the foot of the 
hill and consists of two streets, with 
a few good shops, where the trades- 
men speak bad French and charge 
enormous prices for the necessaries 
of life. On each side of this new 
town stretch the English and Ger- 
man colonies, the English settling at 
the west end and the Teutons pre- 
ferring the east. Ever since the 
Emperor Frederick lived in a villa 
here the east end has been a resort 
for patriotic Germans who want the 
warm breezes of the Riviera, but do 
not care to enjoy them on French 
territory. It is not the most pleas- 
ant part of the town, and English 
and Americans are very chary of 
settling there, as the more aristo- 
cratic west end turns the cold shoul- 
der to the unfortunate villa holders 
and dwellers in hotels and pensions 



AS THE CROW FLIES. $$ 

at the east end, and has a ten- 
dency to consider them doubtful or 
declasse. 

The west end has all the best 
hotels and pensions as well as villas 
scattered along the pretty Prom- 
enade overlooking the sea and bor- 
dered with wide-branching date 
palms. The Promenade ends in 
lovely gardens, and both Promenade 
and gardens are called after the late 
Empress of Russia, who spent a 
winter here early in the seventies. 
The Promenade is used as a scene 
for " church parade" after service 
on Sunday mornings by the English 
colony, and every afternoon, from 
four onward, one may meet the 
world and his wife there. The 
municipal band plays twice a week 
in the public gardens, but the per- 
formance — a rather poor one — is 
attended mainly by Italians. The 
language of San Remo is a curious 
patois made up of Ligurian Italian — 
very different to the pure Lingua 
Toscana of Florence, and the bastard 
French heard in Nice and Cannes. 

Five days in every week are bright 
and sunny, one of the remaining 
two is usually cloudy and the other 
rainy. The average temperature is 
fifty-two degrees in winter. The 
winds are hardly ever troublesome, 
as the high chain of hills behind the 



34 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

town act as a natural barrier. 
Among the many bad shops there is 
one really good one : Squire's, the 
English chemist's, who dubs himself 
(but by real Letters Patent) "Court 
Chemist to the late German Em- 
peror and to H. R. H. the Prince 
of Wales." 

When the late Emperor Frederick 
was ill here in '88 at his villa and all 
his affairs and correspondence were 
in confusion, his much-loved wife, 
the popular Empress Victoria (who 
looks so much like her mother, the 
Queen of England) used to have all 
her English letters sent to the villa 
enclosed in this chemist's prescrip- 
tion envelopes, to keep them safe 
from Bismarck's spies ; for the rela- 
tions, never very cordial, between 
the grim Chancellor and the Illus- 
trious Lady were then at a dangerous 
tension and the friends of the Em- 
press claimed that he ■ did not 
scruple to confiscate her private let- 
ters from the English Court when he 
could get hold of them. The young 
Princesses were very fond of taking 
long walks in the endless olive 
groves about San Remo, and sketch- 
ing the town from either of the two 
high rocks that shut in the bay on 
each side. 

A pretty peasant girl in a small 
fruit shop near the Emperor's villa 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 35 

made a small fortune by selling 
mouldy pears and sour oranges to 
enthusiastic British tourists who 
thronged the shop, because the Em- 
press Victoria had made a lovely 
study of her in oils, which has ap- 
peared in a London exhibition. 

Another permanent memorial of 
the visit of the Royal Family to San 
Remo is the constant appearance of 
the highly-gilt arms of the Hohen- 
zollerns over most of the shops in the 
new town, which, one and all, describe 
themselves as "Court Grocer to the 
Emperor Frederick" ; "Court Boot- 
maker to the Imperial Family," 
when possibly the chef may have 
bought some candles from the one 
and the Emperor's valet may have 
been measured for a pair of boots at 
the other. I have even seen the ad- 
vertising card of one "Guiseppa 
Candia, Court Laundress to the Ger- 
man Empress." 

The English set in San Remo 
is charming and very hospitable 
when one comes with letters of in- 
troduction. The leading English 
physician, Dr. Freeman, and his wife 
are always ready to extend the 
courtesies of the place to fresh ar- 
rivals ; and any visitor at the Eng- 
lish Club will easily recall the jovial 
person of Mr. Benecke. But when 
one comes without letters or other 



$6 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

credentials, the English colony can 
be very freezing ; as a third-rate 
American author found some years 
since, when, with his wife, he tried 
to take the town by storm. 

The country round about San 
Remo is full of pleasant walks. Os- 
pedaletti is only two miles away, and 
one may take a charming walk there 
and back in the afternoon. It is 
an interesting place, albeit a dreary 
one, for it is the monument of a great 
failure. Some years ago a great In- 
ternational Company bought up all 
the land along the lovely bay, built 
splendid hotels and shops, made 
good roads and put up the magnifi- 
cent Casino still to be seen there. 
The shares were at a high premium 
and every one was sure the com- 
pany would make a huge fortune, 
and so it would if it had not ne- 
glected the trifling formality of ob- 
taining the consent of King Hum- 
bert to the establishment of a large 
gambling hell in his dominions. 
The result was that he stepped in at 
the last minute and intimated that 
while he had no objections to a 
Casino, he was not prepared to allow 
games of chance. Of course, this 
ruined not only the company, but 
the place, for Ospedaletti's only 
raison d'etre was in the Casino, and 
the Casino's in the roulette table. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 37 

The hotels and shops are all closed 
now and the beautiful building is 
gradually falling to pieces from de- 
cay. The roads are all overgrown, 
and a few poor Italian families are 
the only representatives of the gay 
world that was to make Ospedaletti 
a successful rival of Monte Carlo. 

Then, beyond, is the town of Bor- 
dighera, an Anglo-Italian resort 
nearer the frontier and especially 
loved by consumptives. George 
McDonald, the Scotch author, has a 
beautiful house there and his daugh- 
ters are famous in the tennis courts 
along the Riviera. Bordighera is a 
garden of palms and supplies all the 
churches of Rome on Palm Sunday. 

A more interesting walk from San 
Remo is to take the Corniche road as 
far as the Pietra Lunga on the east 
side of San Remo, and then to strike 
inland through the olive groves until 
one finds the dreary village of Bus- 
sana, a place totally destroyed by 
the earthquake of 1886. The ruins 
of the quaint old church are still 
shown (with the inevitable mono- 
gram of the Virgin on everything), 
where a service was being held 
when the first shock came on that 
eventful Sunday. The peasants say 
there are still bodies hidden under 
the massive masonry and swear that 
the place is haunted. This was the 



38 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

earthquake that startled Cannes 
early on the same morning, when 
walls were falling and people flying 
from the hotels and houses in vari- 
ous stag;es of undress. The Prince 
of Wales was there then on his 
yearly visit to the Riviera, and one 
of his valets rushed in to call him 
at five o'clock for the hotel walls had 
fallen at the back, and there was 
danger that the others might go. 
But the Prince only scolded the 
valet sleepily for waking him and re- 
fused to get up in spite of the man's 
entreaties, finally turning over and 
going to sleep again amid the noise 
of falling chimneys and crashing 
walls. It is needless to say that H. 
R. H. was not injured and that the 
other walls did not fall. 

The local government of San 
Remo is vested in the Syndic, the 
jovial Cavvaliere Bartolomeo Aquas- 
ciati, who is practically elected for 
life and who has an almost des- 
potic authority over the civil affairs 
of the town ; while the Sous Prefect 
is at the head of the police and ranks 
above the Colonel of the regiment of 
Bersaglieri (or sharpshooters) now 
here. 

San Remo is particularly suited, 
on account of its peculiarly antisep- 
tic climate, to persons troubled with 
throat complaints, and several really 






AS THE CROW FLIES. 



39 



wonderful cures have been wrought 
by its balmy air. Living is much 
cheaper than in Cannes, Nice or 
Mentone ; there is capital medical 
advice available, and very pleasant 
society. The old rhyme that applies 
to Zante : 

11 Zante, Zante, 
Fior di Levante," 

might be paraphrased to suit San 
Remo, for it is certainly the fine 
flair of the Riviera. 





IE- CITY OF PALACES. 

ENOA.— Streets of pal- 
aces, dingy and dirty 
with the mould of ages, 
but with interiors 
adorned with all the 
lavish luxury of the East, such is 
Genoa to the cursory view. The 
tourist, rushing through the Cathed- 
ral and the Cemetery, his Murray in 
hand ; hastily conning the names of 
old masters and then going away 
satisfied, does not begin to know his 
Genoa.. 

It is a city to linger in, to study 
slowly and lovingly, to muse over, 
in its deserted squares and sleepy 
parks. Certainly it is a famous in- 
troduction to Italian art. Every one 
knows it was called La Superba in 
the old days, so there is no need for 
me to do anything but jot down a 
few random memories of the place. 
Genoa, of course, is chiefly interest- 
ing on account of its past, not its 
present, but it may be as well to say 
that its capacious harbour accom- 
modates steamers sailing daily to 
nearly every port in the Mediter- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 41 

ranean and that in 1888 the total 
tonnage entered amounted to 3,000,- 
000 tons. The lanterna or light- 
house in the harbour is old enough to 
be a curiosity, for it was built in 
1547, and is apparently good for 
another couple of centuries. Near 
its foot are the dockyard and arsenal, 
which were established in 1276. But 
since i860 the Italian government 
has made Spezia its chief dockyard, 
to the disgust of the Genoese. 

The one wide modern street in 
Genoa is the Via Vittorio Emanuele, 
on which are all the good hotels. In 
every Italian city and village one 
meets this name, and a certain de- 
gree of monotony attaches to it 
after one has shopped in fifty or 
sixty such streets in as many towns ; 
but it shows the popularity of the 
late king, II Re Galanfuomo, as they 
still call him. The shops in this 
street in Genoa are Parisian in every 
way, and there is an indescribable 
air of cheerfulness and gayety as 
one moves along past crowds of 
handsome black-browed Italian wo- 
men. This word comes involun- 
tarily to one in thinking of Italian 
women or girls. They could never 
be called pretty, or even beautiful, 
with their dark, glowing skins, large, 
warm eyes, thick, perfectly-curved 
eyebrows, and a more or less faint 



42 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

down on the upper lip ; but they are 
undeniably handsome. 

Then, too, their way of walking 
out in afternoon or evening in full 
toilette and with perfectly-arranged 
coiffures,'but without hat or bonnet, is 
attractive and gives a cosy air to the 
open street. Behind our hotel is 
a long, glass-covered arcade about 
the length of two city blocks, al- 
ways filled with a gay, chattering 
crowd of both sexes, who prom- 
enade up and down, now stopping 
to look at the brilliantly-lighted win- 
dow of some shop rich in statues 
and statuettes of Parian and Car- 
rara marble, or to sit at small tables 
in front of some smart cafe to eat ices, 
or the Italian equivalent, granita. 

This. arcade is one of the sights of 
the city and forms one of the most 
attractive features of Genoa. One 
often thinks of the gay scenes en- 
acted there nightly, when far away. 

A walk about the town is delight- 
ful, provided one is unfettered by 
that abomination, a valet-de-place, or 
local guide. Such narrow streets 
running in all directions past grim 
palaces and squalid houses (but all 
of stone, for wood has no part in 
the internal economy of Genoese 
building) ending frequently in some 
odourous cul de sac, or doubling on 
themselves, to bring the helpless 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 43 

wanderer back to his starting point, 
after an hour's walk ! 

The Cathedral must form the ob- 
jective point of a first walk in 
Genoa. Indeed, it would be hard 
to miss it, for it is built of squares 
of black and white marble and re- 
sembles an immense chess board on 
end. But there is a pathetic dignity 
about it, for it is very old. 

It was begun in the twelfth cent- 
ury, and it is most probable that 
Columbus said his Aves and Paters 
under its vaulted roof, for he was a 
native of the erst-while republic of 
Genoa, when that power ruled the 
.Mediterranean and boasted, like 
Venice, of a Doge. There is a curi- 
ous inscription above the arches 
which part the nave from the aisles, 
near the Doge's gallery, to the effect 
that the great-grandson of Noah 
founded Genoa and that the nave 
was restored in 1307. 

But this is only one of the curi- 
ous things about this curious Ca- 
thedral, for the verger who was 
gorgeous in his cocked hat and 
wand-of-office, showed us two huge 
pictures on either side of the high 
altar, which had been taken by the 
great Napoleon from Genoa to Paris 
when he conquered Italy ; which had 
gone thence to Vienna and had 
finallv returned to their former rest- 



44 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



ing place. They showed the effect 
of travel, but were wonderfully well 
preserved. One represented the 
martyrdom of St. Sebastian — that 
ever-present product of Italian gal- 
leries, but in this case the arrows 
were happily absent. We saw, too, 
the picture of the Madonna, painted 
by St. Luke and alluded to by Mark 
Twain. It had not grown at all 
clearer since he saw it twenty odd 
years ago. 

A wonderfully beautiful Byzantine 
tomb was shown us in John the Bap- 
tist's chapel, and was declared to 
contain the ashes of that saint. 
Certainly it must have been old, and 
the carving was exquisitely done. 
The original chains worn by John 
the Baptist were also shown. They 
were very rusty ! No woman but 
the Queen is allowed in this little 
side chapel, erected to commemorate 
the crime of Herodias, but why Her 
Majesty should be excepted from 
the rule is not quite clear, unless we 
accept the theory of the divine right 
of Kings which Kaiser Wilhelm 
holds so strongly. There they also 
show the sacro catina, supposed to be 
made of a single emerald given by the 
Queen of Sheba to Solomon. This 
vessel formed part of the spoils of 
the Genoese at Caesarea in hot. It 
is brought out of the treasury three 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 45 



times a year for the veneration of 
the faithful, but no one is allowed to 
touch it under severe penalties. But 
as I was admiring this and preparing 
to enthuse over its associations, the 
verger asked if I understood Latin 
and immediately launched forth into 
the original text of the Excommuni- 
cation pronounced against any fe- 
male who should dare to enter that 
sanctum sanctorum where John the 
Baptist reposed. But, alas, if his 
accent was not that I had learned at 
Oxford, it was still less that of Yale ; 
and I could only guess at the mean- 
ing of most of his sonorous periods. 
We left the Church with this ava- 
lanche of mediaeval Latin ringing in 
our ears. The interior, taken as a 
whole, is impressive. The nave and 
two aisles are unusually long, and 
standing at one end a semi-gloomy 
vista of respectable length is opened 
up. There are other Churches in 
Genoa, but none so rich in tradition 
or saintly relics. The Via Balbi is 
worth a visit, for there stand the 
famous Palazzo Rosso or Red Pal- 
ace, built entirely of dark red stone ; 
and the Galliera Palace with its mag- 
nificent collection of paintings. The 
Galliera family has done much for 
Genoa as well as for Paris. The 
late Duke gave ^80,000 to the 
harbour works a few years ago, and 



46 AS THE CROW FLIES 

now the city of Genoa owns the fine 
gallery of paintings. The Duchess, 
who has been dead only a short time, 
left her splendid house in Paris to the 
Austrian Emperor to be used as the 
permanent house of his Embassy in 
Paris and (as she was childless) 
willed her large private fortune to 
the clever Empress Frederick, Queen 
Victoria's eldest daughter, in trust 
for deeds of charity. 

A description of one of these im- 
mense palace galleries may stand 
for all. Always there is a grand 
hall supported in part on columns 
leading to an arcade-surrounded 
court. Beyond comes the great 
staircase, in two ascents. All this is 
open to the public view, and the 
long perspective of halls, courts, 
columns and arcades is magnificent 
in the extreme. In a splendid suite 
of rooms on the second floor of this 
Palazzo Rosso is the largest collec- 
tion of pictures in Genoa. 

The Palazzo Reale or Royal Pal- 
ace is interesting, having been 
splendidly fitted up by King Charles 
Albert in 1842. There are palaces 
innumerable in Genoa, many rich in 
historical interest and full of pict- 
ures by the old masters, and if one 
were compiling a guide book one 
could write quires of description 
about gilding that cost a million 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 47 

francs in one, and mosaic floors 
worth several fortunes in another. 

But the crowning' glory of Genoa 
is its Campo Santo or Holy Field, 
where the noble families of Genoa 
bury their dead. Imagine vast ar- 
cades surrounding an open space of 
several acres and these arcades 
crowded with wonderfully beautiful 
statues. Each family pays a sum 
(no small one) for a niche in one of 
these arcades with the accompany- 
ing vault beneath and then erects a 
life-size statue of the departed, or 
some symbolical figure. Some are 
pathetic and tender — the fairy-like 
child dancing on roses, for example, 
or the full-sized sailing boat cross- 
ing the Styx, every rope and sail 
wrought with wondrous grace in 
snowy marble. Others succeed in 
Icing only grotesque. One huge 
figure of Father Time sitting cross- 
legged on a coffin with his knee 
cocked up, for instance ; or an un- 
pleasantly realistic model of an old 
man with one foot in an open grave 
with his face turned over his shoul- 
der. This was erected by an old 
Count, still living, when his wife 
died. And so on ad infinitum. 
'Jin's is a place to muse, to think 
grave thoughts and to reflect upon 
sudden death, but not a place to get 
up an appetite. 



48 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Genoa is an attractive city, al- 
though they say that, unlike Flor- 
ence and Pisa, it is not an econom- 
ical town for strangers of limited 
means and that lodgings are scarce. 

The character of the inhabitants 
betrays little of the fiery valour that 
gave Genoa its proud position in the 
Middle Ages. Now its people are 
quiet, hard-working and practical ; 
they take little interest in politics 
and are well content to live under a 
constitutional Monarchy, without 
showing any disturbing tendency 
toward an anarchistic Republic. 




THE NAPOLEONIC LEGEND. 




I OME. — Prince Napoleon, 
the head of the Bona- 
parte family and de 
jure Emperor of the 
French, has died at 
Rome after a long and serious ill- 
ness, during the course of which, 
faithful to his declared principles, he 
refused to accept a drop of medicine. 
His has been a strange and eventful 
life. Nephew of the great Napoleon, 
born in Trieste in 1822, he has been 
four times in exile. He was born in 
exile and he has died in exile. One 
of the most brilliant men who ever 
lived, one of the most statesmanlike, 
his whole life has been ruined, and 
the great promise of his youth 
spoiled, by the cynical disregard of 
the opinion of others which has al- 
ways distinguished him. He was far 
the superior of his cousin, the Em- 
peror Napoleon III., and if his ad- 
vice had had more weight with the 
Emperor, the Republic in France 
would still be a hopeless dream, and 
the mud of Panama would not have 
soiled France. 

Prince Napoleon had, of course 



50 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

no connection with the coup d'etat 
of the Second December that gave 
Napoleon III. the French Empire, 
for his claims were indisputably 
superior to those of the successful 
plotter ; ' and although a reconcilia- 
tion did take place between them, 
their relations were never very cor- 
dial, in spite of the fact that the 
Emperor placed great reliance upon 
Prince Napoleon's judgment. It 
may be safely said that if Prince 
Napoleon had been in Paris during 
the fatal days of 1870, the unfortu- 
nate war with Prussia would never 
have been declared. It is ancient 
history now that the Empress Eu- 
genie was the cause of that war, 
and in private conversation often 
referred to it as "Ma Guerre!' 

Not long since I met the famous 
Doctor Cordes of Geneva, who had 
been called in consultation by the 
Emperor before he started on the 
fatal campaign that culminated in 
Sedan ; and he told me that the 
Emperor was simply a child in the 
hands of the Empress, for he was, at 
that time, suffering the most terrible 
agony from stone in the bladder. 
At that time, however, Prince Napol- 
eon was traveling in Spitzbergen with 
his bon aim's, Ernest Renan, the 
clever author of the " Vie ale Jesus" 
and knew nothing of passing events. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 5 I 

A warning dispatch was indeed sent 
to him, bat he shrugged his shoulders 
on receiving it and remarked that 
although the members of the govern- 
ment in France were "imbeciles" still 
they were not all fools. 

But events proved that they were, 
and Prince Napoleon hurried back 
upon the declaration of war, meeting 
with a hostile reception on his way 
through Scotland, where the sympa- 
thies of the people were with Prussia. 
He found the French Ambassador in 
London, M. de la Vailette, jubilant 
and repeating the boomerang-like 
phrase, U A Berlin." The Prince 
foretold the result clearly and ex- 
actly, and after Sedan quietly de- 
voted himself to scientific pursuits 
until the time for the third Empire 
should arrive. He had never liked 
the Empress Eugenie. He saw 
clearly the mistake the Emperor had 
made in not allying himself with one 
of the reigning houses ; and in es- 
pousing the beautiful Mademoiselle 
de Monti jo. He assumed a spiteful 
attitude toward the Empress whom 
he called " Ni-Ni" and once refused 
to drink her health in public. 

M. Penan says of him that his 
grasp of a subject was wonderful, 
his wit extraordinary, and his execu- 
tive ability unsurpassed. His sister, 
the brilliant Princess Mathilde, who 



52 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

shares so many of his gifts, has the 
only salon in Paris to-day, and with 
her brother's death and the union of 
his party it will become historical. 

Prince Napoleon was so reserved 
that he" went through life without 
inspiring or receiving any real affec- 
tion, and without meaning it he un- 
consciously repelled adherents who 
wished to become devoted. He had 
the misfortune of passing for a Re- 
publican under the Empire and for 
an Imperialist under the Republic, 
which was the more unfortunate as 
he despised all forms of government, 
and in his ambition to rule would 
have put up with any. A curious 
thing about him was the fact that his 
followers liked him better at a dis- 
tance. Only the other day one of 
his staunchest friends exclaimed: "I 
never liked him so well as now, when 
I know I shall not see him again." 

At a distance people remembered 
only his brilliancy, culture, eloquence 
and the surprising ease with which 
he mastered every problem, however 
difficult, in public affairs. He was 
superior everywhere and popular no- 
where, and although he had the per- 
sonal magnetism which enforces 
admiration at. first sight, he had also 
the unfortunate power of inducing 
antipathy toward him on further 
acquaintance. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 53 

The deceased Prince's life was in 
all its vicissitudes an extraordinary 
one and is rich in anecdotes and 
stories. His career was a succession 
of false steps, and again and again 
the cup of power was at his lips, 
only to be dashed to the ground by 
his own mistake. A man of majestic 
person, high ambitions and unex- 
celled ability, his singular lack of 
tact and knack of doing the wrong 
thing in the right place ruined his 
chances of success. 

Prince Jerome Napoleon, or the 
Emperor Napoleon the Fifth — to 
give him his real title — was the son 
of Jerome Bonaparte (the brother of 
the great Napoleon), King of West- 
phalia, by his marriage with the 
Princess Catherine of Wurtemburg. 
He was brought up in Rome, Austria 
and Geneva, and finished his educa- 
tion under the supervision of his 
uncle, the King of Wurtemburg, at 
the military school of Ludwisburg, 
near Stuttgart. On the establish- 
ment of the Empire, under his 
cousin, he took rank as Heir Ap- 
parent before the Prince Imperial's 
birth, after which he became Heir 
Presumptive, and was for some time 
Governor-General of Algeria. The 
Emperor often employed him upon 
various diplomatic military and sci- 
entific missions. Many people may 



54 A S THE CROW FLIES. 

have forgotten that at one time 
Prince Napoleon was a prominent 
rival of the Emperor. When the 
future Napoleon III. was indulging 
in various little escapades that made 
it seem " unlikely he would ever rise 
to any great position, fortune fa- 
voured his more youthful cousin. 
Prince Napoleon had every advan- 
tage. In looks he was weirdly like 
the first Napoleon. I saw him here 
last year and instinctively looked for 
the cocked hat and knee breeches 
associated forever with " le petit cap- 
oral." No one who saw his massive, 
clean-shaven, powerful face could 
doubt that he stood face to face with 
a veritable Napoleon. He seemed 
to hold the winning card when the 
Revolution of 1848 broke out, but 
every day he lost ground, notwith- 
standing his active interference in 
affairs, and every day Prince Louis 
Napoleon gained more influence in 
spite of his reserve. And this illus- 
trates French nature. It prefers 
a man who is impenetrable rather 
than one who bustles about and 
allows his plans to be found out. 
After a few pitched battles Prince 
Napoleon allowed it to appear that 
he recognized his cousin as the 
stronger man, and attached himself 
to his cause. But he had no sym- 
pathy with the men who planned the 



AS THE CROW ' FLTES. 55 

coup d'etat. He distrusted and dis- 
liked them, and they returned the 
compliment. But he became Heir 
Presumptive, was made a general 
and had the Palais-Royal as a resi- 
dence with ^40,000 a year. 

In 1859 he married Princess Clo- 
tilde, the daughter of King Victor 
Emanuel, and sister of the present 
King of Italy. He leaves three 
children, Prince Victor Napoleon — 
now Napoleon the Sixth, — Princess 
Letitia, widow of the Duke of Aosta, 
and Prince Louis, a colonel in the 
Russian Dragoons. And now we 
come to two mistakes generally made 
as to the dead Prince's character. 
He was not a coward and he was not 
an atheist. Ever since the Crimean 
war Prince Napoleon has been 
dogged with a reputation for cowar- 
dice and was given the nicknames of 
" Plon Plcrn" and " Cringe Plomb" 
by the Parisian mob. There is not 
a doubt, however, that he behaved 
with all the courage of his race at 
the battle of the Alma, and that his 
recall was not due to his own choos- 
ing, but to the intrigues of his 
enemies. 

The report of the Marshal Com- 
manding confirms this. But a dam- 
ning story of his ill-health was 
circulated at the time by the semi- 
official papers, and the mob was 



56 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

ready to put the worst construction 
on it. Report says the Empress 
Eugenie was in no small degree re- 
sponsible for these rumours, for she 
cordially disliked him and he re- 
turned the feeling with interest. 

Fate was again cruel to him in the 
war with Prussia in 1870-7 1. When 
he returned from Spitzbergen he was 
anxious to be given a responsible 
command in the Imperial army, but 
instead was sent off to Italy to keep 
King Victor Emanuel in a good 
humour. He had one more chance, 
before the war, of redeeming his 
honour, when the Due d'Aumale 
challenged him to a duel, but lost it 
by too much conscientiousness. He 
hastened to the Tuilleries to ask if 
he ought to fight. Of course the 
Emperor said no, and then the Em- 
press made her famous but ill-natured 
bon mot, " If a bullet is ever found in 
our cousin's body it will be that he 
has swallowed it." 

Prince Napoleon was not an athe- 
ist. This is proved by his whole 
life, by his friends and by his death, 
and will be proved by his memoirs, 
for in his last moments, while still 
conscious, he received Extreme 
Unction from Cardinal Bonaparte, 
and he has had a religious funeral. 
He was an anti-clerical, and while 
certainly not a religious man, he 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 57 

inclined towards the doctrines of 
Rousseau. 

The famous Good Friday dinner 
at which the Prince and his guests 
ate char cute vie and drank a some- 
what profane toast was the base of 
the belief respecting his religious 
opinions — a belief greatly magnified 
and spread by the Empress Eugenie. 
Prince Napoleon never knew when 
to speak and when to remain silent, 
although a magnificent orator, and 
his failing has been well summed up 
by a famous senator : " The Prince 
speaks well, he is the best of ora- 
tors — but he says only too well what 
had best been left unsaid." 

His friends were the most famous 
men of the day, Victor Hugo, Ed- 
mond About, Ste. Beuve and Pere 
Hyacinthe, who sent him his blessing 
as he lay dying. His relations with 
the Emperor show many instances 
of his want of tact. Having been 
complimented by Napoleon upon 
two speeches delivered in the Senate 
against the temporal power of the 
Pope, he resolved to improve upon 
them, and then delivered his famous 
anti-Papal speech at Ajaccio, a 
speech which drew forth the follow- 
ing interesting letter of remonstrance 
from the Emperor : 

" Monsieur Mon Cousin, — I can- 
not help informing you of the painful 



58 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

impression which I received on read- 
ing the speech you delivered at 
Ajaccio. When I left you in Paris 
with the Empress and my son and as 
President of the Privy Council, I 
hoped that you would prove yourself 
by your acts, conduct and speeches, 
worthy of the trust which I had 
placed in you, and that you would 
set the example of that unity which 
ever ought to exist in our family. 
You have raised questions which no 
longer concern our day. It is neces- 
sary to have borne, as I have, the 
responsibilities of power in order to 
judge how far the ideas of Napoleon I. 
are applicable to the present time. 
Before the great statue of the founder 
of our family, what are we but pig- 
mies, only able to behold a part and 
incapable of grasping the whole ? 
One thing, however, is certain, and 
that is that Napoleon exercised — 
first of all in his family and then in 
his government — that severe discip- 
line without which all government is 
impossible, and without which all 
liberty leads to anarchy. Having 
said this much, my cousin, I pray 
God to have you in his holy keeping. 
Napoleon." 

This letter was written in 1866, 
when the Emperor was traveling in 
Algeria. 

After the fall of the Empire and 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 59 

the death of the Emperor, Prince 
Napoleon kept up a sort of armed 
neutrality with the Empress Eugenie 
and his young cousin, the Prince 
Imperial (then Napoleon the Fourth), 
after whom, he was the head of the 
Bonapartist party. When the Prince 
Imperial fell in Zululand in 1879, 
Prince Napoleon became the head of 
the family. But the Prince Imperial 
had made a foolish, boyish will in 
which he named his cousin, Prince 
Victor, the eldest son of Prince 
Napoleon, his heir and successor. 
The Empress Eugenie was only too 
glad to annoy her hated foe by 
pretending to accept this absurd ar- 
rangement, and unfortunately Prince 
Victor Napoleon fell into the hands 
of foolish advisers, quarreled with 
his father and set up a party of his 
own. For several years father and 
son have not spoken, each claiming 
to represent the Imperialist party in 
France. But it is now stated with 
authority that Prince Victor Napol- 
eon was reconciled to his father on 
his death-bed, and this will do much 
towards wiping out the memory of 
his unfilial conduct. But he was 
strongly tempted. The Empress 
Eugenie urged him, all the old ad- 
herents of his great family urged 
him, to set up the Napoleonic stan- 
dard, while his father seemed apa- 



6o AS THE CROW FLIES. 

thetic and indifferent. Then, of 
course, he commanded a divided 
allegiance. Now he stands at the 
head of a united party. Thousands 
of men who would not join Prince 
Napoleon on account of his anti- 
clerical opinions and who refused to 
support Prince Victor Napoleon 
against his father, are now rallying 
to the Imperial standard. 

Scoffers said the Napoleonic legend 
was dead when the first Napoleon 
died. Scoffers say so now. Yet 
Napoleon III. proved that it was 
very much alive in the fifties, and it 
is well on the cards that Napoleon VI. 
may do so in the nineties. The new 
Emperor de jitre, is clever, eloquent 
and possesses tact, above all the sine 
qua 11011 of one in his position. He 
has few enemies and many friends 
and will inherit the Empress Eu- 
genie's large fortune upon her 
death. 

And so the greatest service Prince 
Napoleon has ever done for his fam- 
ily and cause is by dying, for his 
death unites, while his life divided, 
his party. 

History will judge him fairly. 
Brilliant, clever, witty, statesmanlike, 
eloquent and masterful, his life has 
been ruined by want of tact. His 
last words are significant : (I quote 
from the London Times}) 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



6 i 



" He declared that he died an Em- 
peror, adhering to the principles of 
the Concordat^ and fully imbued 
with the religious sentiments of the 
Bonapartes." 

Such was the Emperor Napoleon 
the Fifth, a man misjudged by many 
and loved by few, but a man whose 
talents will one day be recognized by 
France. 



C^; 









A DEVONSHIRE MARKET 
TOWN. 

EWTON ABBOT, DEV- 
ON.— At the first blush 
the sudden change from 
the balmy breezes of the 
Riviera to the compara- 
tively harsh winds that blow over 
Dartmoor, would seem to be a trial. 
But such is hardly the case. I am 
writing to-day in a private sitting- 
room of the quaint Globe Inn in this 
little-visited town, with the windows 
wide open and the sun streaming in 
with a warmth that is almost too 
genial. One never hears of a tourist 
visiting Newton Abbot, and from all 
I can gather Newton Abbot is in the 
same position. It is a queer, quiet 
little market town in South Devon, 
about six miles from Torquay, the 
great southern watering place, and 
not far from Dartmouth and the 
moors. One can have hunting and 
fishing in the neighbourhood, for 
the South Devon fox hounds meet 
near by three times a week and the 
rivers Eske and Culme supply cap- 
ital salmon fishing. Several big 
country houses are close by, and to 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 6$ 



the casual observer Newton Abbot 
exists simply to form a coterie of 
tradespeople for the benefit of the 
County Families in the neighbour- 
hood. It has no society of its own, 
and even its Mechanics' Institute 
gives entertainments only by the suf- 
frages of the "surrounding Nobility 
and Gentry," to quote from its pro- 
grammes. And yet it is a happy, 
quiet little town enough, sunning 
itself in its own small valley, and 
with many of its by-streets run- 
ning up the numerous hills at the 
back, whose brows are dotted with 
genteel (how popular that word is 
among the lower-middle class in 
England) semi-detached " villas." 
The London papers get down at mid- 
day, and until noon Newton Abbot 
gets on very well with a local print 
which reproduces the news from 
yesterday's Times. 

By the way, " The Thunderer " is 
too dear for the average man (it is 
three-pence a copy as against a penny 
for the other London dailies) and so 
it is lent out to read by the local 
library which advertises itself as 
'•in connection with Mudie's." One 
rather wonders where the "connec- 
tion " comes in when a copy of " Rob- 
ert Elsmere" is handed one as the 
"last thing out, sir, just down from 
London." 



64 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

But Newton Abbot has some his- 
torical interest. In the midst of the 
town, just in front of the old ivy- 
covered tower of St. Leonard's, is a 
remarkably ugly stone surmounted by 
a modern lamp-post. The stone 
bears an'inscription to the effect that 
in 1688 the then Mayor of the town, 
standing thereon, read the first proc- 
lamation made by William of Orange 
after landing in England. Enthusi- 
astic Orangemen visit the stone to 
this day, and zealous members of the 
Order of the White Rose curse it 
heartily, as they regret King James 
and the Stuart dynasty ; which, what- 
ever its faults, at least inspired more 
romantic loyalty and personal devo- 
tion than the phlegmatic Dutch 
Prince ever did. 

I visited several houses near New- 
ton Abbot with a view to taking one 
furnished for the sake of the good 
fishing near, and although none was 
found to suit I had some droll ex- 
periences. One house was very well 
furnished, and the family seemed in 
a remarkable hurry to get away 
while offering the place at a lpw 
rent, but it afterwards turned out 
that the paterfamilias — a clergyman 
— had just eloped with the parlour- 
maid. 

At another house I was received 
by a smartly-dressed person who 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 65 

tried hard to give me the impression 
that she was a lady, and who at 
length airily inquired : "And would 
you like to move in, at once, forth- 
with directly ? " But her drawing 
room was decorated with wax flowers 
under glass shades ; and mottoes 
done in Berlin wool, with a chromo- 
lithograph of the late Lord Palmers- 
ton over the mantel ; so I was not 
exposed to much temptation. The 
occupant of another cottage waxed 
confidential as she showed me over 
the house, told me her name was 
Mrs. Mudge and that she " laun- 
dered " for a living. She looked 
as if she did something for a liv- 
ing, for her face was fiery red and 
she diffused an odour of gin and 
cloves as she slowly maundered on. 

Nearly every street in the town 
shows by its name some connection 
with the Courtenay family — Earls 
of Devon — who in the old days 
owned most of the property in 
South Devon. Now evil times have 
come upon them and beautiful old 
Powderham Castle, near Dartmouth, 
alone remains to them. But they 
are venerated still in the county 
and the " Courtenay interest" is a 
great help to the candidate for Par- 
liamentary honours. 

Newton Abbot has the distinction 
— if it be a distinction, which is very 



66 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

strongly debated — of having as its 
representative in Parliament the only 
Liberal member from Devonshire. 

Mr. Seale-Hayne is a wealthy fol- 
lower of Mr. Gladstone and is faith- 
ful to his chief, but even he owes his 
seat to a- prudent refusal to accept 
Mr. Gladstone's extreme views on the 
subject of home rule. The sturdy 
farmers of Devon have ideas of their 
own and do not see why the efforts 
of a few Irish agitators should be 
allowed to break up an Empire. 

The Conservatives and Liberal- 
Unionists divide the representation 
of Devon between them, with the sol- 
itary exception of the aforesaid Mr, 
Seale-Hayne, and the Conservatives 
are working hard to defeat him at the 
next general election. The echoes 
of the great gathering at Exeter last 
year, when Lord Salisbury addressed 
an audience of several thousand 
working people upon the fallacies of 
home rule for Ireland, have not yet 
died away, and his speech will bear 
fruit at the next general election. 
The tactics of the Gladstonians in 
the rural districts are now devoted 
to drawing off the attention of the 
rural voters from home rule — 
an attention that, to Gladstonian 
minds, is too closely fixed upon the 
struggles of the rival Irish parties, 
and the probability of their follow- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



6 7 



ing the lead of the famous Kilkenny 
cats — and fixing it upon co-called 
" rural reforms." The Conservatives 
and Liberal-Unionists, on the other 
hand, place home rule in the front 
and make it the main issue ; so the 
curious spectacle is presented of the 
party responsible for the measure 
placing it in the background, and the 
party opposed to it making it the 
main issue in the campaign. 

Turning to sweeter subjects — who, 
having once tasted Devonshire clot- 
ted cream can forget it ? And when 
to a glass dish of clotted cream is 
added a sunny morning, a well-laid 
breakfast table and a hissing tea urn, 
life looks at least cheerful. 





OXFORD — FROM A STU- 
DENT'S NOTE BOOK. 




XFORD.— Everything at 
Oxford is quaint and 
charming, but its inns 
are unique and it is im- 
possible to find one that 
sells bad beer, — the undergrads would 
never stand it, — and where a better 
judge of bitter beer than a Christ- 
Church, or a Magdalen, or a " Johns " 
man is to be found, it is hard to say. 
The names even of these inns are 
soothing. It is such a relief to get 
away from the American hotel abom- 
ination, with its gilded radiator, and 
from its cold, stiff restaurants and 
pretentious name ; to the sanded 
coffee room of the quaint, cosy 
" Mitre," or to the bar-parlour of 
the " Bell " or the " Plough." And 
although these small, low-built inns 
are old — older than New York City 
several of them — they are radiant 
with a fresh lavender-smelling clean- 
liness that is never found in the big 
American hostelries, where the be- 
fringed and be-ribboned Irish impor- 
tation reigns in her pride. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 69 



Rosy-cheeked country lasses serve 
the public here, and are shining ex- 
amples of civil service, while behind 
the bar stands a lively, neat and 
pretty barmaid, who is an adept in 
chaffing the college men, but with too 
much self-respect to allow any vulgar 
jesting in her domain. We under- 
grads were not allowed to frequent 
every inn, but the "Clarendon" was 
a great favourite, and I have heard 
many jolly stories in its quaint old 
"Smoke Room," lined with prints 
after Hogarth. When I was "in 
residence" at the University, three 
years ago, there used to be a very 
pretty barmaid who officiated at the 
"Plough," opposite my rooms, and I 
noticed that she was usually at the 
window when Connigsby Disraeli, 
nephew to the great Earl of Bea- 
consfield, who was then a student at 
"New," passed by. A queer fellow, 
Disraeli, and sure to make his mark 
if he lives. I met him at the theatre 
constantly, where he always led the 
applause. He is very popular still 
in Oxford, for he is hail fellow well 
met with everyone, be it "town" or 
"gown"; and he is "up" on dogs 
and horses as w T ell as in the classics. 
His kennels were famous when he 
was "in residence" or "up," as it is 
sometimes called. If his uncle had 
not been the first Earl and had the 



70 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

title not therefore been confined to 
his direct line (he had no sons), Dis- 
raeli would have been " Milord"; 
but he is sure to make his own way. 
At the last general election he was 
elected to Parliament from the Al- 
trincham . Division of Sussex by a 
large majority over his Liberal op- 
ponent. The Queen is said to take 
a personal interest in his success, 
and Her Majesty's partiality for his 
uncle is well known. He has already 
begun to attract attention by active 
work in the Conservative cause and by 
clever addresses at Primrose League 
meetings all over England. 

My rooms in the college days were 
in Cornmarket Street, near the 
"High," and my landlord (who was 
duly licensed by the all-powerful 
Proctors) rejoiced in the name of 
Huckings. He was formerly valet 
to the Marquis of Queensberry, and 
never allowed one to forget the fact ; 
few were the days when allusions to 
" His Lordship the Markis " failed 
to greet my ears. Huckings is very 
proud of his "acquaintance" with 
the Nobility, and often boasted that 
Prince Christian-Victor, a grandson 
of Her Majesty and a student of Mag- 
dalen, once knocked him down in the 
cricket field. But Huckings is emi- 
nently respectable and very civil. 

His furniture was usually cov- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 7 1 

ered with a green material stiffly 
starched, that crackled and rustled 
like an Irish-American servant out 
for a Sunday walk, — no English 
housemaid would dream of taking 
the liberty of allowing herself to 
rustle. Huckings was a capital cook 
and an experienced butler, and his 
welsh-rarebits were as light as air. 

There is but one theatre in Oxford, 
and that is directly under the super- 
vision of the Vice-Chancellor, and 
no play can be performed without 
his sanction. The programmes are 
headed " By permission of the Rev- 
erend the Vice-Chancellor, and the 
Right-Worshipful the Mayor." For 
Oxford, as a 'Varsity town, is under 
the control of the head of the Uni- 
versity as well as of the Mayor. 

The unsophisticated crowd in the 
gallery always hisses the villain, who 
is usually the best actor, and applauds 
the hero, who is often a poor one ; 
but this is usual all through Eng- 
land, and is taken by the heavy 
villain of the play as a tribute to his 
genius. Very good entertainments 
are given as a rule: "The Pirates," 
Toole in " The Don," and the inimi- 
table Corney Grain have appeared 
among others. The bar is forbidden 
to sell whiskey to the undergrads, so 
the call is for "lime-juice," which 
answers the same purpose ! 



72 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

I met my old tutor, or coach for 
" cramming/' in the street to-day, 
aud I have just had him to dine. 
He is typical — a short, squat man 
with a heavy, unkempt beard, and 
with countless lines seaming his face. 
He has not been out of Oxford for 
twenty years and spends all his 
time in coaching backward students. 
He reminds one in some ways of 
a ripe and somewhat mouldy Stil- 
ton cheese. 

His rooms are musty and cob- 
webby, for he tells me no one has 
dusted them for two years, as he can- 
not stand having his papers disturbed. 
And how he smokes ! His pipe rack 
must hold twenty pipes at least, and 
most of them are beautifully coloured. 

The walks about Oxford are 
charming and on returning from a 
long tramp it is delightful to stand 
on Folly Bridge at dusk and watch 
the punts and canoes come dropping 
down the " Char," or to see a college 
eight dash swiftly down the Isis to 
Iffley. The old inn at Godstow, just 
opposite the ruins of the famous 
Nunnery, is very quaint ; and the 
fame of Mumby's cherry brandy is 
known to all the colleges in Oxford. 

The author of " Alice in Wonder- 
land " is a Fellow of Christ Church 
College, and lives in two rooms look- 
ing out over the green old " Quad." 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 73 

He is fond of children and has them 
always with him. . They tell a droll 
story of him in Oxford. The Queen 
enjoyed " Alice" so much that she 
requested the author, by letter, to 
send her another of his " charming 
books." Much flattered, he for- 
warded Her Majesty his " Treatise 
on the Differential Calculus." 

When I was an undergrad it was 
almost impossible to pay for what 
one bought in Oxford, for the trades- 
people insist on one's taking long 
credits — a neat little plan by which 
they make a good deal in the long 
run, as they charge heavy interest. 
Oxford changes little as the years go 
by. It was lovely spring weather 
to-day and everyone wandered to 
the river, through the green Christ 
Church meadows, just as they have 
done for hundreds of years and will 
do in future centuries ; and they are 
wise, for nothing is so delightful on 
a warm afternoon in June as to take 
a punt and slowly glide along the 
Cherwell, or to drop down the Isis 
in a canoe and take a plunge at 
"Parson's Pleasure." 

Descriptions of College life at 
Oxford have been done to death and 
it is hardly worth while to go over 
the well-worn ground. " The Ad- 
ventures of Mr. Verdant Green " still 
give a fair idea of 'Varsity life, and 



74 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

" Tom Brown " is as good to-day as 
when it was written. 

The contrast between American 
and English college life is sharply 
marked. A short experience of Yale 
made me enjoy Oxford all the more. 
There is no class spirit, but the tone 
in the twenty-odd colleges — each a 
small Yale — is more athletic and more 
Commencement-de-siecle in every way. 

A curious thing is the way in which 
cap and gown are worn here. The 
gown with its two short tails reaches 
only to the small of the back, and is 
only worn when absolutely necessary. 
There has been a good deal of 
amused talk "in Hall" over the re- 
port that some upper classmen at Yale 
actually wear a long gown reaching 
to the feet. It would be considered 
bad form for Oxford undergrads to 
wear such a thing, as long gowns are 
worn only by dons and tutors. 

Americans are coming in increased 
numbers every year ; and for some 
unknown reason they usually go to 
New College, or to " Ch. Ch.," as 
Christ Church is familiarly called. 
But I found St. John's College — or 
" Johns," — with its lovely gardens 
and long, low, time-worn buildings, 
a delightful place to study in or at. 
" Ch. Ch." is pre-eminently the " swell 
college." Balliol is for hard stu- 
dents, and Magdalen is very aristo- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 75 

cratic ; Jesus is for Welshmen, Wad- 
ham for men who want an easy time, 
and Brazenose and Oriel for athletes. 
"Johns " combines the happiest feat- 
ures of each. The others have no 
marked characteristics. 

The good old dons are a feature 
of Oxford, and it is easy to see from 
their rosy cheeks and well-fed look 
that they do not despise the famous 
Oxford ale, which is pure and whole- 
some, while the wine is bad and dear. 
Consequently everyone drinks beer, 
except a few old Deans and Masters 
of Colleges, whose gout confines 
them to toast and water. 

The thought of dons brings up 
memories of the payment of gate 
fines, if one happened to be out of 
college after the great bell of Christ 
Church had boomed out the hour of 
nine ; and it was harder than may be 
supposed to dodge the Proctor and 
his "bull dogs" if one was out "in 
mufti," i. <?., without cap or gown. 
But take it all in all, college life at 
Oxford is an enviable thing, and 
Oxford itself is a delightful place. 






THE ENGLISH LITTORAL. 

-rtfr. 

"BOURNEMOUTH.— Imag- 
ine a few houses set down 
in the midst of a forest of 
pines on two great cliffs 
overhanging the sea ; with 
a sandy soil, and you have Bourne- 
mouth. There are shops, indeed, 
and a principal street, but they are 
so mixed up with the pines and so 
divided, one from the other, that 
they do not give an impression of 
town life at all, and one easily imag- 
ines oneself to be in the depths of 
the country. The pines are the 
fetishes of Bournemouth. You 
breathe in their healing balsam, you 
bathe in pine juice and sleep on 
pine pillows. You walk in pine 
groves, and sit on furniture made 
exclusively of pine and, when you 
die, you are laid under the shade of 
the pines. I don't doubt the fact 
that pines are healthy in moderation, 
but they are monotonous. 

Bournemouth is a new place, for 
everything dates back only forty 
years. Before that there were only 
plantations of pines on the cliff. The 
name of the discoverer of Bourne- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 77 

mouth is unknown, but the man who 
has "made" the place, and made it, 
too, with wonderful taste and skill, 
building all the houses in the pine 
woods and cutting hardly any of 
them clown, is Sir George Mey- 
rick, ably assisted by the Lord of 
the Manor who owns the half not 
belonging to Sir George. One can- 
not call Bournemouth wildly gay, 
but it is eminently select — so are 
the prices, which are high enough to 
frighten away any one under the 
rank (and income) of a Marquis. 
There is no theatre in the town, the 
aforesaid Lord of the Manor who 
owns most of the freehold objecting 
to such worldly amusements ; but 
the inhabitants have managed to get 
around him by fitting up the town hall 
as an amateur play-house, where occa- 
sional third-rate companies perform. 
But people hardly come here to go 
to the play. They come for rest 
and change. Bournemouth is a 
good long way from London : three 
hours from Waterloo station, and in 
Hampshire, on the border line of 
Dorset. The climate is wonderfully 
dry, and milder than that of London, 
but not warm. Indeed, there is 
little difference between the climates 
of Geneva and Bournemouth, except 
that, of course, there is more snow 
in Geneva, and the air is less relaxing-. 



78 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

One can easily understand how con- 
sumptives may derive benefit from it 
(lately many have hurried off to Ber- 
lin to place themselves in Dr. Koch's 
clinic), but to healthy people it is 
debilitating, even more so than the 
climate of Nice and San Remo. 

The scenery around is lovely. 
Great hollows (locally called chines) 
extend to the sea between the cliffs, 
and a drive along the coast reminds 
one forcibly of the drive along the 
Corniche road between Monte Carlo 
and Mentone. Indeed, this part of 
the Hampshire coast is beginning to 
be called the British Riviera, and it 
deserves the name, although the sea 
is less blue and the sky has a duller 
tinge than those of the Mediter- 
ranean coast can show. The neigh- 
bouring drives are full of interest. 
The ruins of Corfe Castle will repay 
a visit, and Canford Manor, Lord 
Wimborne's place, is well worth 
seeing. There are drives to Poole, 
a sea-port near, and to Christchurch, 
with which Bournemouth is incorpo- 
rated for the purpose of Parliamentary 
representation. Boscombe Chine and 
Branksome Chine are lovely spots, a 
little way out of Bournemouth. 

Bournemouth is rich in churches. 
St. Peter's is a noble bit of archi- 
tecture, and Holy Trinity is a re- 
markable building, whose steeple is 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 79 

a tower distinct from the main 
building. Its rector, Canon Eliot, 
has recently been appointed Dean 
of Windsor and Domestic Chaplain 
to the Queen ; and people are la- 
menting his departure, for he has 
been here twenty years and during 
that time has gained for his church, 
by his own efforts, the sum of 
^40,000. 

The inhabitants of Bournemouth 
have been anxious for some time to 
have the place granted a charter of 
incorporation, so that they might 
rejoice in a bona fide Mayor of their 
own instead of having to put up 
with a simple Chairman of Commis- 
sioners. A member of Her Majes- 
ty's Privy Council came down to in- 
spect the town and advised the 
Queen to grant the charter, which 
she did last month. Lately political 
feeling has been running high over 
the election of the Mayor, and there 
have been several Richmonds in the 
field, one of whom put forward the 
fact that he had been for seven years 
caterer to H. R. H. the Prince of 
Wales and to the Guards' Club in 
London as a claim to the office. 
He came within a few votes of elec- 
tion, but was beaten by the leading- 
stationer of the town. 

Now to celebrate this important 
epoch in the history of Bournemouth. 



80 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Lord and Lady Portarlington, who 
live very near, decided to give a 
conversazione in the Winter Garden 
of the Hotel Mont Dore. Of course, 
the Mayor and Aldermen appeared ; 
and now the current of feeling in 
Bournemouth is at fever heat, for 
"the right worshipful, the Mayor," 
to give him his proper title, ap- 
peared in robes and chains of office 
— hinc illce lachrymce. England is 
divided equally on this subject ; 
about half the Mayors of provincial 
towns wearing robes and badges, 
with cocked hats and the other half 
confining themselves to a simple 
chain of office. The Bournemouth 
papers are fighting the matter tooth 
and nail, and one worthy Alderman 
(an Irish-American green-grocer) 
has resigned office rather than sub- 
mit to wear " these relics of mediev- 
alism." It will be news to most of 
us that cocked hats were en evidence 
in the middle ages. 

But Bournemouth is really a 
charming place and well worth a 
visit. 




A DAY AT WINDSOR. 




Windsor, berks.— 

" Personally conduct- 
ed" parties have done 
Windsor to death ; 
and the place has been 
described so often and so poorly 
that it needs a bold pen to make 
another attempt. My day at Wind- 
sor was passed during the cold 
month of January ; when the Royal 
Borough was hung with crape, when 
the flags were at half mast and when 
everything was redolent of gloom 
and sadness. 

I saw the highest in the land 
weeping, and Royalty when overcome 
with grief ; for the Heir Presumptive 
to the English Throne had been cut 
off and the nation was in mourning. 
The clearest memory that remains 
with me after the splendid cere- 
monial in St. George's Chapel, is 
the recollection of the bowed figure 
and grief- worn face, of the Prince of 
Wales as he stood at the foot of his 
older son's coffin, between his only 
remaining son, Prince George, and 
his son-in-law, the Duke of Fife. 
He raised his head as Sir Albert 



82 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Woods, Garter King of Arms, pro- 
claimed the "style and title of His late 
Royal Highness"; and his terrible 
loss was evident to the most unobserv- 
ant there. But the funeral has been 
everywhere fully described, and it 
would be useless to repeat a catalogue 
of its many and varied incidents. 

After it was over, I walked through 
the grassy stretches of Windsor 
Great Park with an old Oxford 
friend, who had known " Prince 
Eddie " well, both on the Bacchante 
and afterward at York. He told me 
much that was new of him and 
several stories of his wonderful tact 
in social matters, by means of which 
he had averted serious scandal from 
a family well known to readers of 
Burke and Debrett. I parted from 
him that evening with a better ap- 
preciation of the dead Prince and his 
character than I had ever had before. 

His death has been a terrible 
blow to all the Royal Family, but in 
the midst of their terrible grief the 
Prince and Princess of W T ales cannot 
but feel consoled by the overwhelm- 
ing sympathy that has been poured 
out upon them not only by English 
hearts ; but from Ireland, Scotland 
and Wales, and from the greater 
England beyond the sea. 

There is something infinitely pa- 
thetic about the death of their eldest 



AS THE CROW FLIES. &1, 

son, just a week after his twenty- 
eighth birthday and the month be- 
fore his wedding. All England has 
wept with the Royal Family, and 
foreigners realize as never before 
the depth and strength of English 
loyalty. The crowds that lined the 
streets in front of Marlborough 
House when Prince Eddie lay ill, 
contained many work-people and 
clerks ; and the grief and respect 
shown by the lower classes every- 
where has been a wonder to all, and 
a complete refutation of Andrew 
Carnegie's windy diatribes as to the 
progress of democracy in England. 
There is no jarring note in the sym- 
pathy of grief, for no word has been 
said against the dead Prince — noth- 
ing but praise and a hearty recog- 
nition of his modesty and hard work. 
We shall see, when we review the 
history of his engagement, something 
of his strength of character. 

Prince Albert Victor Christian 
Edward was born at Frogmore, 
Windsor, on January 8, 1864, and 
his names were carefully chosen, 
representing two grandfathers (the 
Prince Consort, and the King of 
Denmark) ; one grandmother (the 
Queen) ; and a great-grandfather (the 
Duke of Kent, Queen Victoria's 
father). The Queen preferred the 
two first names, and so, until he was 



84 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

created Duke of Clarence in 1890, 
his official designation was Prince 
Albert Victor of Wales. But to the 
great mass of the English people he 
was always Prince Edward, or 
Prince Eddie as he was affection- 
ately called, for Edward was a name 
that held glorious associations for 
them and they looked forward to 
having another " Long-shanks " on 
the throne. 

The history of his life has been 
repeated so often that it is only 
necessary to recall a few incidents : 
his two years as naval cadet in the 
training ship Britannia at Dart- 
mouth with his brother ; his three 
years' cruise around the world in 
the Bacchante j his studies at Cam- 
bridge and Heidelberg ; and his 
tour in India. He and his brother, 
Prince George, had always been to- 
gether until their choice of profes- 
sions separated them. Prince Ed- 
die went with all his soul into army 
work and Prince George chose the 
navy. The grief of the British army 
at Prince Eddie's death shows what 
Tommy Atkins thought of him. 

During the last six years in Eng- 
land every one has been wondering 
why Prince Eddie did not marry and 
settle the succession ; and, finally, 
the truth leaked out last year, al- 
though long before that his atten- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 85 

tions to his pretty cousin, Princess 
May of Teck, had attracted atten- 
tion. Ever since they had played 
together as children he had been 
devoted to her, and his father and 
mother heartily approved his choice. 
The Queen, his royal grandmother, 
resolutely opposed all thoughts of 
this match and brought pressure 
to bear to get Prince Eddie to 
marry his cousin, Princess Mar- 
garet of Prussia, a daughter of the 
Empress Frederick and sister of the 
present Kaiser. But Prince Eddie 
was firm and declared if he could not 
marry Princess May he would not 
marry any one. And so matters stood 
for several years. But when Princess 
Louise of Wales (who is next in suc- 
cession after Prince George) mar- 
ried the Duke of Fife, the necessity 
for the marriage of Prince Eddie 
grew greater, as there was a shrewd 
suspicion that the great English 
nobles would hardly care to have the 
children of the Duke of Fife rule 
over them if the other branches failed. 
But even yet Prince Eddie stood firm 
and would not yield, although at last 
even the Prince of Wales urged com- 
pliance with the Queen's wishes. 
And finally Prince Eddie's reward 
came. When Prince George was so 
ill with typhoid, popular sentiment 
urged Prince Eddie's marriage and 



86 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

then the Queen gave in and made the 
two young people happy. 

The public announcement of the 
engagement was received with uni- 
versal joy, for Princess May was 
thoroughly English, and both the 
fiancees leaped at once into great 
popularity. They went down to 
Windsor together to salute the 
Queen, and everything seemed to 
give universal satisfaction. Even 
Her Majesty relaxed when she saw 
how joyfully her subjects received 
the news of the royal betrothal, and 
the Prince of Wales declared at a 
public dinner his delight that his 
son was to marry a Princess who 
was English by birth, education and 
preference. The ground of the 
Queen's objection to the marriage 
was simple, and she was soon con- 
vinced that the English nation at- 
tached no importance to it. On her 
mother's side, Princess May is 
descended from King George III. 
and stands in nearly the same rela- 
tionship to that monarch as her late 
betrothed, for the Duchess of Teck 
is the daughter of King George's, 
son, the Duke of Cambridge ; and 
Queen Victoria's father the Duke 
of Kent, was another son ; so the 
Queen and the Duchess of Teck are 
first cousins ; Princess May and the 
Prince of Wales second cousins ; and 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 87 

Princess May and Prince Eddie sec- 
ond cousins once removed. But the 
Duke of Teck's pedigree was the 
trouble, for he is the descendant 
of a morganatic marriage, and but 
for that would now be heir to the 
throne of Wurtemburg. The Eng- 
lish people found no fault with 
Princess May's descent, and, indeed, 
a sweeter, more gracious, more 
charming Princess it would be hard 
to find. The marriage was fixed for 
February, and soon wedding gifts 
began to pour in. Committees were 
formed all over the British Empire 
for the purpose of subscribing to a 
national gift. In Ireland it had 
been decided to present the royal 
bride and bridegroom with a castle, 
and Scotland and Wales were plan- 
ning the same gifts. Bridesmaids 
were chosen and everything seemed 
to smile upon the national rejoicing. 
When Princess May went with her 
father and mother to pay a visit to 
the Prince and Princess of Wales at 
Sandringham early in January, huge 
shooting parties were organized in 
which Prince Eddie joined, and 
every morning the ladies of the 
Royal Family drove out to join the 
sportsmen at luncheon. On one of 
these occasions, on a rainy, misty 
day, Prince Eddie complained of 
feeling very cold, and instead of 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



waiting to drive back with the 
others, walked briskly home to 
Sandringham with Princess May. 
The next day he was better and in- 
sisted upon going out with the other 
sportsmen. Again he was com- 
pelled to leave them, and again he 
walked back with Princess May. 
How she must value the remem- 
brance of those two walks now ! 
This was on the Friday. On Sun- 
day he was ill, on Tuesday alarming 
bulletins were issued, and on Thurs- 
day he was dead. Oh, the pity of it ! 
On the threshold of his career, on the 
eve of his marriage he was taken. 
One is tempted to ask Cui bono? 

He will have his place in English 
History ; and the memory of my day 
at Windsor will always linger ; for I 
have seen what is of more interest 
than the Castle, with all its wealth of 
art — the loyalty of a people to their 
Royal House in its time of trial. 




SCARBOROUGH. 

• 

CARBOROUGH. — The 

seaside resorts of Eng- 
land are numberless, and 
yet there is a curious 
lack of similarity in their 
surroundings, their atmosphere and in 
their class of visitors. Scarborough is 
to the north of England what Bourne- 
mouth is to the south. It is select and 
exclusive, but the ultra smart London 
set is not found in its purlieus. It is a 
great place of resort for the old York- 
shire families — families who can trace 
their descent back to Norman Will- 
iam and behind him to the Saxon 
Thanes and Earls ; and who look 
with ill-concealed disgust upon the 
nouveaux riches who are so painfully 
to the fore just now in Belgravian 
drawing rooms and at crushes in 
Mayfair. Scarborough is not wildly 
gay ; its visitors take their pleas- 
ures sedately, and the voice of the 
imitation nigger-minstrel is unheard 
in the land. One needs to be in rude 
health to enjoy Scarborough, for the 
sea breezes come rushing in from the 
lap of the Atlantic to mingle with 
the keen air of the downs ; and if 
one's lungs are sound it is a delight 



90 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

to live. Hotel prices are fearfully 
and wonderfully conceived in Scar- 
borough, but the landlords say peo- 
ple eat so much on account of the 
splendid air that they must charge 
high prices in self-defence. 

The amusements and distractions 
of Scarborough ? If one hunts or 
shoots there is plenty of sport. Sev- 
eral packs of hounds meet on the 
downs near by, and although the 
country is a bit stiff, the going is 
fairly decent. It may perhaps be 
considered a drawback that hounds 
occasionally disappear over the cliffs 
in the ardour of the chase, and that a 
too-eager hunter might easily do the 
same — with his rider on his back ; 
but most men who hunt here say 
that they enjoy the spice of danger. 

Scarborough has two features dis- 
tinctively its own : its " Spa " and its 
cabs. Just why the long promenade 
where the band plays should be 
called the " Spa " no one knows, but 
the fact remains, and every Sunday 
all the world and his wife walk 
there for " Church Parade." The 
Scarborough cab is really a small 
Victoria, drawn by one horse, ridden 
by a correctly-got-up tiger, who lends 
a picturesque air to the trap. They 
go well, these small horses, and 
gallop up and down the long hills on 
which Scarborough is built, with 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 9 I 

greatest ease. The " day tripper," 
with his 'Arriet, is unknown here, for 
the simple reason that there would 
be nothing for him to do. 

There are no stands in the streets 
to display "s'rimps," "whilks" and 
other questionable marine delicacies, 
put up in brown paper bags at 
"tuppence the quart"; no merry- 
go-rounds ; no cheap photographic 
studios ; or one-horse circuses where 
the manager is clown, acrobat and 
owner in one, to tempt the taste and 
gratify the curiosity of the lower 
classes. And there are no Ameri- 
cans in Scarborough. It is too far 
from Paris, and too quiet for the 
extraordinary specimens of nasal 
tendencies, who make an annual de- 
scent upon the Continent and swarm 
from Dan to Beersheba. One never 
meets them at home, these painfully 
rich and newly varnished Yankees 
who travel through Great Britain in 
great state and pomp, and whose 
breeding is shamed by that of the 
scullery maid in the cosy little inns 
they so disdain. It is really trying 
to see the impression most English- 
men have of Americans — impressions 
gathered simply from these inflic- 
tions who, knowing no one but the 
green-grocer on their corner at home, 
come abroad to astonish the natives ; 
and who succeed in doing nothing 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



but in making the appellation of 
American to stink in the nostrils of 
the foreigner. 

Of course there are ruins near 
Scarborough, and again of course 
the favourite drive is to these ruins. 
Another excursion is to a hill over- 
looking the town, where tradition 
says that unsavoury individual 
yclept Oliver Cromwell, once stood, 
or sat or performed some other oper- 
ation equally important. 

Politically, as becomes its staid and 
exclusive clientele, Scarborough is 
Conservative ; and has no sympathy 
with an old man's visionary plans to 
break up a great Empire. Irish agi- 
tators appear occasionally but not 
often, and they rarely carry away a 
full purse from the collections they 
invariably take up. 

Descriptions of places are invari- 
ably tiresome. One place is usually 
like another, and the best way to know 
a town or city is to go there ; but any- 
one who can picture a town built up 
on the cliffs and down in the hollows 
between, with stretches of sandy 
beach in front, will have a fair idea of 
the Bournemouth of the north. The 
country round about Scarborough 
is attractive. Quaint villages quite 
out of the world like Symsbury, are 
met with at every turn ; small mar- 
ket towns, like Yarm, where the old 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 93 



custom of engaging servants by the 
" hold fast " in the market-place on 
the yearly appointed day still obtains ; 
and small seaside resorts, like Red- 
car and Coatbridge ; with Whitby 
famous for its jet ; all these are 
worth a visit. Yorkshire men are 
canny, and good at a bargain and no 
better judges of horseflesh are found 
anywhere. The only drawback con- 
nected with Scarborough is its dis- 
tance from London, but that is really 
only a drawback to Londoners. The 
Scarborough man is rather proud of 
the fact. Lie looks with pity upon 
the benighted south of England 
man, and has no words to express 
his contempt for the finnicky for- 
eigner, who comes to Scarborough 
and drinks sour red wine, instead of 
quaffing huge draughts of the glori- 
ous old Yorkshire ale. 





CLIMBING IN LAKELAND. 

IOSTHWAITE, NEAR 
KESWICK.— A couple 
of days since I started 
off with a barrister 
friend to do a days' 
climb in the Lake country. He 
promised me a good view from the 
top of Scafell Pike, but a rough 
time in getting there ; and took an 
almost pathetic interest in my boots 
and "shorts," hinting darkly that 
certain mysterious " screes," over 
which the path lay, would test their 
strength and durability to the ut- 
most. We travelled third class, of 
course, for my friend would have 
thought me insane to propose any- 
thing else ; and, really, we were very 
comfortable, as all the seats were 
cushioned. He wore the regulation 
British walking costume : stout, 
heavy, hob-nail boots, thick woolen 
stockings, and loose and impossibly 
wide knickerbockers ; while a blue 
serge jacket and a peaked cloth cap 
clothed his upper man. Of course, 
his short briar-wood pipe was to the 
fore, and on the whole, he looked 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 95 

comfortable. My own get-up was 
more ordinary, as I had started at 
half an hour's notice. 

We rushed into Darlington sta- 
tion before long — an immense 
glass-covered structure, with plat- 
forms half a mile long — and there 
changed for Penrith and Keswick. 
We began to ascend soon after 
leaving Darlington, passing by Bar- 
nard Castle, the " beauty spot of 
Yorkshire" — the tracks lying over 
breezy moorlands. We changed at 
Penrith, a dreary junction, and 
reached Keswick about seven o'clock 
in a mist of half-twilight that was 
very kind to the distant mountains, 
making them appear much bigger 
and grander than they were ever 
meant to be. Fortunately, we found 
the Borrowdale coach still running, 
and as it would take us within two 
miles of our destination, we were 
well pleased. Before it started we 
had time to attend a very lively 
meeting of the Salvation Army in 
the Keswick market-place, where 
the tall, thin man who dealt out 
freely sundry dismal prophecies, be- 
trayed painful need of a bronchial 
trochee. 

The drive on the box seat of the 
four-in-hand was glorious. The 
moon came out as we reached the 
edge of Derwentwater and threw her 



g6 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

soft light full on the lonely lake ; 
and, what was of more importance, 
on the broad road ahead of us. 
The horses were fresh and the road 
inclining to a descent, so we rolled 
gaily on past the Lodore Hotel, 
hard-by the famous falls, until, too 
soon, we stopped before the Bor- 
rowdale Inn. Then, with a cheery 
good-night from the coachman, we 
started to walk the remaining two 
miles, our appetites forcibly remind- 
ing us that we had eaten nothing 
since early morning ; and with a 
cheery feeling of expectancy for the 
comforts of the inn presided over by 
the famous Mrs. Rigg. The lights 
of the little hamlet of Rosthwaite 
soon appeared and we halted at a 
long, low, straggling house, buried 
in vines. A tall, stout lady stood 
in the doorway and proved her- 
self to be the Mrs. Rigg by the way 
in which she bustled about in all 
directions, calling several buxom 
country lasses to her aid. She sent 
two of them to prepare our much- 
wanted supper, while she herself 
piloted us to our quaint, low-ceil- 
inged bed-rooms, where every bed 
had curtains. Now, Mrs. Rigg is a 
widow, and has been ever since the 
memory of man, and concerning the 
original Mr. Rigg nothing is known ; 
but, whoever he was, people take 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 97 

more interest in the fact that his 
wife knows how to keep a good 
homely inn, called by Mrs. Rigg 
herself the " Royal Oak/' but known 
to all the neighbourhood as "Mrs. 
Rigg's." Mrs. R. herself is a tall, 
stout old lady with a false front 
and an imposing cap, and when she 
sits in the little bar parlour behind 
the steaming tea kettle, reading 
the Family Herald, she presents a 
picture of comfort not easily sur- 
passed. Mrs. Rigg is suspected of 
a leaning toward the village painter, 
to the regret of all concerned, and 
dismal are the forebodings of the 
aforesaid country lassies should she 
yield herself (and her inn) to his 
fascinations. We enjoyed our sup- 
per — huge chops served with mealy 
potatoes and foaming tankards of 
"bitter" — and then in the cozy 
smoke room (why never smoking 
room in England?), we proceeded to 
lay out the route for the next day. 
Our intention in coming to Ros- 
thwaite had been to climb Scafell 
Pike and, possibly Glaramara ; so 
we confidently looked forward to 
a fine day. But, oh, the despair 
when we woke up next morning, 
for the rain was coming down in 
a steady drizzle and the mist was 
floating gently over and about all 
the mountain tops within view. We 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



met with rueful faces in the coffee 
room, for now Scafell was quite out 
of the question as well as Glara- 
mara ; for, of course, no view could 
be had on such a day, and the idea 
of wandering along the edge of 
precipices in the mist was hardly 
tempting. 

But an inspiration came to us. It 
was unanimously voted a pity to 
waste that day, as we should be 
obliged to return on the next ; so, 
after much poring over maps and 
guides, we decided to go as far up 
Scafell as possible and then, making 
a circuit, to return by Sty Head 
Pass. This sounded easy and I be- 
gan to congratulate myself — rather 
previously, as it afterward turned 
out — upon the probability of get- 
ting back in time for dinner at six. 
We had scraped acquaintance with 
an "undergrad" from Oxford — 
Wadham College — and we invited 
him to go with us. We hurried over 
breakfast, taking care, fortunately, 
to eat a hearty one ; and then, with 
a rueful look at the cozy, firelit 
room we were leaving, tramped out 
into the rain about ten o'clock. We 
knew we should get wet through, so 
we took no overcoats and simply 
buttoned our jackets tight about our 
necks to keep our flannel shirts dry 
as long as possible. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 99 



The road was very good for some 
distance, being the coach road to 
Buttermere, so we went gaily on. 
About two miles from Rosthwaite we 
reached the queerly-named little vil- 
lage of Seatollar (which our Wad- 
ham friend insisted on referring to 
as l 'Tolloller "), where we turned 
off into a rustic road overgrown 
with grass, which for some time led 
us among pine groves before bring- 
ing us to the famous Borrowdale 
yews : a group of fine old firs upon 
the hillside. Here our Oxonian 
again would have it that the name 
applied to the various flocks of 
sheep grazing near and pointed out 
to us some "genuine Borrowdale 
ewes." It got damper and damper 
as we went on, but I ceased to won- 
der when I heard we were drawing 
near the " wettest place in England," 
the hamlet of Seathwaite, where the 
annual rainfall is actually one hun- 
dred and fifty-six inches ! There is 
not much of interest in Seathwaite 
except its moisture and the fact that 
it has no public house, as Sir Wilfred 
Lawson the great temperance advo- 
cate owns all the freehold. 

Here we left the road and struck 
up the side of the valley, having 
Glaramara -and Great Gable in front 
of us, two big mountains covered 
with clouds ; while Talyors-Gill 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



poured its rushing, thread-like 
stream down the hillside opposite. 
Here we first began to walk on 
grass, and grass that had been 
rained on for the last hundred years 
without intermission, judging from its 
appearance. But we said little and 
pushed on by the side of the beck 
for some time, until it became neces- 
sary to go straight up the mountain 
by the sheep track, which was marked 
only by an occasional cairn or small 
heap of stones. It was hard work to 
climb over slippery rocks almost 
perpendicular ; but we persevered 
and surmounted the hill, only to find 
ourselves struggling in a green bog 
at the top. The rain now came 
down harder than ever and as the 
Oxford man began to whistle "Wot 
Ch'er ? " we felt gloomy. We pushed 
on in single file, each one dripping 
as he walked, the sound of the water 
swashing about inside our boots 
being painfully evident. We went 
on like this for some time. My 
friend suddenly broke into a shout, 
" Here we are, boys, thank good- 
ness, this is Eske Hause." "Oh, 
then we are half way up Scafell," 
said the Oxonian — "hang the mist ! " 
This last observation was timely, 
for a thick Scotch mist had now 
shut in upon the small plateau 
known as Eske Hause, where we 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



stood, but as to the derivation of 
that name deponent sayeth not. We 
stopped here for a few minutes 
while our Oxonian produced a guide 
map, and with the water pouring 
down from the peak of his cap, pro- 
ceeded to mark out our path. The 
rest of us wrung ourselves out and 
paid as much attention as we could. 
u We must go down by Sprinkling 
Tarn (good name, that) and then by 
Sty Head Tarn until we get to the 
Pass. Now, shall we lunch up here 
or down by the tarn ? " We decided 
to postpone luncheon until we 
reached a lower and presumably 
warmer level, and we eagerly pro- 
ceeded to make the descent. The 
path, or track, was steep and stony 
and the stones were slippery. I will 
draw a veil over that descent, but 
when we got down by Sprinkling Tarn 
(a small, lonely bit of water) we felt 
like being put through a wringer. 
We hurried on, not noticing that the 
path had merged itself impercept- 
ibly in the surrounding turf, until 
our Wadham friend exclaimed : " Oh, 
I say, you know, this can't be right. 
It's quite time we were at that con- 
founded tarn and I haven't seen a 
cairn this half hour." It was too 
true. We were off the track. There 
was mist all about us and the keen 
rain was chilling us through and 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



through. We searched for the path 
in vain, until we were entirely dis- 
couraged, when some one suggested 
that it wouldn't be a bad idea to 
have a bite ; so we stood about in a 
dripping group as we got out our 
sandwiches and flasks. We were 
wet and chilled, and I doubt if Sir 
Wilfred himself would have objected 
to a taste of Scotch whisky under 
the circumstances. But the sand- 
wiches ! Oh, Mrs. Rigg, Mrs. Rigg, 
how we blessed you, there, on the 
steep side of Scafell as we found that 
the ham of which they were exclus- 
ively composed had "gone bad!" 
We said little, but we thought hard 
just then. 

After that we went sadly and si- 
lently on. Soon we found we were 
going down instead of up, which we 
knew to be wrong, as Sty Head Pass 
was above us. And now the thun- 
ders of a torrent swollen by recent 
rains began to be heard, and pres- 
ently we came in sight of a tumbling 
mass of water hurrying along the 
bottom of the valley. We stood 
aghast, for this we knew must be 
Lingmell Beck, and the valley the 
one leading to Wastwater, miles 
away from the Pass. Night was 
closing in and the mist was nothing 
lighter, while it was really hard to 
carry the wet and dripping mass our 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 103 

clothes had become. We wandered 
up and down this valley for some 
time in bewilderment, not finding any 
trace of a path. But at last my friend, 
who had been carefully examining 
the mountain side, cried out : " Look, 
boys, there's the Pass, way above 
us ! We must push straight up if we 
ever want to get back to-night." 

We looked doubtfully at the thin 
black line that might be the Pass, 
and which seemed miles above us, 
and then, with one determined look, 
set our teeth and went up the mount- 
ain. I say went, for we didn't walk, 
although we used every other means 
of progression, for we crawled and 
crept and stumbled along, some- 
times on our hands and knees, fre- 
quently sliding back with great 
agility. I never experienced such 
a climb anywhere, even in Greece 
among the wild Theban mount- 
ains ; for, dripping wet, with our 
clammy clothes clinging to us, we 
went a solid mile up that hill be- 
fore we found the Sty Head Pass. 
That, although rough, was child's 
play compared with what we had 
come through, and when we reached 
the small cairn that marks the high- 
est part of the Pass, we shuddered 
as we looked down the almost per- 
pendicular mountain and wondered 
how on earth we ever came up. 



104 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

From the top of the Pass it was a 
fairly easy walk to Rosthwaite by 
Sty Head Tarn, which, owing to the 
encircling mist, looked like an im- 
mense ocean. 

Mrs. Rigg was at the door when 
we got down and looked so cheerful 
and glad to see us that we forgot to 
mention that ham. But we haven't 
got the damp of that walk out of 
ourselves yet ; and it is doubtful if 
anything but the warm Italian sun 
is capable of removing the general 
mildew that enshrouds us. 






WINDERMERE. 

MBLESIDE.— The chief 
peculiarity of the Lake 
country is the ever-pres- 
ent dampness. But once 
used to this one begins 
to enter into its peace and quiet. 
A month here away from the world 
would be, to a tired and overworked 
man, better than all " cures" or sani- 
toriums, for the damp is not the city 
pest, but that peculiar kind of moist- 
ure which makes the hard, smooth 
turf as green as an emerald and gives 
to the temporary visitor an appetite 
wolfish in its intensity. 

Ambleside is five miles from Win- 
dermere village (the nearest station) 
and is reached by four-horse drags 
running three times a day. The 
road is as smooth as a billiard table, 
the horses always fresh, and on 
the day it doesn't rain, a drive to 
Ambleside by the Lake is a thing to 
be remembered. 

Ambleside is a village of a few 
thousand inhabitants and primitive, 
to a certain degree. The Post Of- 
fice, for instance, is in a stationer's 



106 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

shop and the drapers' and tailors' 
establishments are one. Ambleside 
is nestled at the foot of Wansfell 
Pike and is built on the side of a 
hill, consequently the* streets are 
steep. There is but one street really, 
and the chemist, the butcher and the 
inevitable relic shop are to be 
found in it. The village is honey- 
combed with lodgings and there are 
many inns, for it is a great centre 
for excursions. The immediate 
neighbourhood is rich in attractions. 
Stock-Ghyll Force is but a short 
distance off — through the stable 
yard of the " Salutation Inn," and 
although a turn-stile with the sign 
" No Admission " appears, one may 
enter boldly without paying. The 
waterfall is not high but is wonder- 
fully picturesque as it falls down the 
moss-covered rocks and dashes away 
through a deep ravine. The Stock- 
Ghyll is a favorite resort for newly- 
married couples and is certainly ro- 
mantic enough for the purpose. 
Then there is a charming walk to 
Rydal — Wordsworth's village — by 
the banks of the Rothay, past Fox- 
How, where the noble Arnold of 
Rugby, beloved by all readers of 
"Tom Brown's School Days," lived ; 
and Fox-Ghyll, the residence of the 
late Mr. Foster. Fox-How is an 
ideally perfect place, situate on the 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 107 



side of a hill, with a smooth green 
expanse of lawn in front, and buried 
in rose vines and honeysuckles. It 
is a low stone building with old- 
fashioned windows and has a 
cheery, hospitable look. The name 
is curious and a frequent one in the 
lake country. It comes, I believe, 
from the old Norwegian word 
"hague" (a sepulchral mound). 
Dr. Arnold named the three roads 
between Rydal and Grassmere. The 
highest he called Corruption Road, 
the middle Bit-by-Bit Reform (now 
called Bitbit Road), and the most 
level, Radical Reform. A little fur- 
ther on is Rydal Mount, Words- 
worth's home, a charming old place, 
cushioned in trees. There the road 
goes on by Rydal Water, a small 
lake almost covered with rushes, 
and then through a gap in the 
mountain to Grassmere. This is all 
haunted ground, for Wordsworth, 
Southey, Coleridge and De Quincy 
all walked and mused by the side 
of these lakes and on these hills, 
and one hardly wonders that they 
were inspired by the lovely scenery. 
Then, in another direction, one may 
walk from Ambleside to the quaint 
little village of Clappersgate, which 
is made up entirely of low grey 
stone cottages covered with vines 
and roses. The resources of Amble- 



Io8 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

side in providing day excursions for 
its visitors are really unbounded, and 
one of the pleasantest of these is to 
walk down to Waterhead, at the end 
of Windermere, and take passage on 
one of the small steamers that run 
several times a day. As the small 
vessel starts out from the pier one gets 
a splendid view of the mountains at 
the back of Ambleside, and the little 
village lookslike a cluster of one or 
two houses in a vast amphitheatre. 
Then we turn around a wooded 
point and stop for a minute at Low- 
wood, the big hotel on the bor- 
der of the lake, and then go on 
past hills and valleys and flocks of 
sheep to Bowness, passing two or 
three small islands, one of which, 
Holm Crag, is a favorite resort of 
birds in the winter months. Then 
we dart over the lake to the little 
island of Ferry, and then go straight 
on past a bewildering number of 
bays and islets to Lakeside at the 
foot of the lake where the railway 
station of the Midland line gives ac- 
cess to Ulverston and the iron coun- 
try of Furness. 

Windermere is almost equal to 
Lake Geneva, and although it has 
become the fashion to cry down the 
English lakes, it is a fact that more 
enjoyment at an extremely moderate 
outlay may be obtained in the small 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 109 

belt of country that contains them, 
than in Switzerland, overrun as it is 
by the cockneys and parvenues of 
every nation. I know of hardly any 
greater treat to a person of any 
artistic appreciation than that trip 
up and down Windermere on a clear 
day. Then the drives from Amble- 
side are charming. One may drive 
to Grassmere by Red Bank, a steep 
hill overlooking that lake and Rydal 
Water, and also to Hawkshead, 
where a very curious old church 
demands attention ; and to High 
Wray, where there is an inn re- 
joicing in the name of " The Dun 
Cow." A hill outside High Wray 
commands a splendid view of the 
hills behind and about Ambleside : 
Loughrigg Fell, Wansfell Pike, Nab- 
Scar, Crinkle Crags, Coniston-Old- 
Man and Great Gable. On a clear 
day one may also see Helvellyn. 
The road passes Wray Castle, a mod- 
ern house built to imitate perfectly a 
mediaeval fortress. The owner is a 
retired M.D. of Liverpool. Another 
delightful drive is to Langdale Pikes 
and to Megeon Ghyll, a lovely 
waterfall rather bigger than most of 
the cascades in Lakeland. 

On this drive one may have a 
capital view of Red Screes, another 
of the high mountains. Curious 
names are met with all through 



IIO AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Westmoreland. For instance, three 
peaks not far from here are called 
Harrison Stickle, Pike O'Stickle and 
Pike O'Blisco. 

There are many curious customs 
still extant in and about Ambleside. 
Christmas is celebrated in the old 
hospitable way. At that time the 
farmer and his family are away 
at other houses night after night 
and one must look for them any- 
where but at home. At Christmas 
every Cumberland and Westmore- 
land farmer gives two banquets, 
one called "t'auld foak's neet" and 
the other, "t'young foak's neet;" 
the first of .which is for those who 
are married and the second for 
those who are single. The tables 
groan under old-fashioned dainties : 
raised and mince pies, goose, caudle 
cup, "guid Strang yell," as they call 
the home-brewed October, and a 
huge bowl of punch. Intoxication 
never happens at these Cumberland 
feasts. 

Among others, Mrs. Hemans once 
had a cottage on Windermere called 
" Dove's Nest," and wrote some 
verses on the scenery, which are 
well known ; but she can hardly be 
ranked with the school of " Lake 
Poets." 

There is a queer old rhyme 
current in the district, in itself a sig- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 






nificant comment on the weather of 
the country : 

' ' When Wansfell wears a cap of cloud 

The roar of Brathay will be loud ; 

When mists come down on Loughrigg Fell, 

A drenching day we all foretell ; 

When Red Screes frown on Ambleside, 

The rain will pour both far and wide. 

W T hen Wansfell smiles and Loughrigg's bright, 

'Twill surely rain before the night ; 

If breezes blow from Bowness Bay, 

'Tis certain to be wet all day ; 

And if they blow from Grassmere Lake, 

You'd better an umbrella take. 

But if no rain should fall all day 

From Ambleside to Morecambe Bay, 

Upon that morning you will see 

Fishes and eels in every tree ; 

When in the nets on Windermere 

Twelve pickled salmon shall appear, 

No rain shall fall upon that day 

And men may safely make their hay." 





SANDRINGHAM HOUSE. 

fOLVERTON. — The 
country in Norfolk is 
real country and the 
scenery is typically Eng- 
lish. The Prince Con- 
sort could hardly have selected a more 
suitable spot than Sandringham for 
the country seat of the Heir Appar- 
ent ; and the fact that the Prince and 
Princess of Wales make Sandringham 
House their headquarters for the 
greater part of the year has natur- 
ally given an impetus to property in 
the neighbourhood. 

Sandringham House is not a pal- 
ace. It is simply large, genial, 
hospitable and attractive, like its 
master. The Prince of Wales is a 
much discussed man, and the ordin- 
ary American who has not travelled 
and who derives his knowledge of 
English affairs from the American 
daily papers — which usually give 
only that side of the question which 
is acceptable to the Liberals and 
Radicals of Great Britain — has little 
idea of his personality, and does not 
begin to gauge the strength of his 
character. 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 113 

The Prince is usually supposed to 
be a jovial, good-natured man who 
devotes his whole time to pleasure, 
and who has no ideal in life beyond 
the pursuit of social gayeties and 
field sports. This is a total and 
gross mistake. The Prince of Wales 
is one of the most hard-working men 
in the Kingdom, and the humblest of 
his future subjects has probably more 
time to himself than the Heir Ap- 
parent ; and, I venture to say, does 
not spend it half so usefully as this 
much-abused Prince. 

For many years he has been King 
of England in everything but name, 
and he is far more than the figure- 
head of the nation. His knowledge 
of public affairs is remarkable ; he is 
a master of diplomacy and his tact is 
famous. Like his father, he pos- 
sesses a fine mind, and sometimes 
displays a depth of foresight aston- 
ishing even to his old friend, Mr. 
Gladstone. He has a happy knack 
of looking at all sides of a question, 
and his mature judgment upon mat- 
ters of public import is often sought 
by statesmen of all shades of opinion. 

He has never meddled in politics, 
and his success in steering a straight 
course among the quicksands of 
party passion and strife is well shown 
by a dinner he gave in London only 
the other day to the King of the 



114 A S THE CROW FLIES. 

Belgians, at which Mr. Gladstone sat 
next to Lord Salisbury, and Mr. Bal- 
four chatted pleasantly with Mr. 
John Morley. The Prince of Wales 
alone could give such a dinner. A 
fair estimate of the Prince is rarely 
found in American papers. Because 
he is Prince and will some day be- 
come King, they think it their duty 
to spatter his reputation with mud ; 
and to show their "Republican sym- 
pathies" (I use the word in its wid- 
est sense) by ill-digested diatribes 
against royalty. The Conservative 
party, like the English Court, has 
hardly a representative among us, 
and our knowledge of important 
events on the other side usually 
comes from a " Liberal " source. It 
is evident that in many cases the 
American papers know a bitter edi- 
torial against the Prince of Wales 
may serve some political end of 
their own ; and they never hesitate 
to sacrifice him on such occasions. 

It is no exaggeration to say that 
the most popular man in England is 
the Prince of Wales. Even the Radi- 
cals cheer him, for he is always ready 
to do anyone a good turn, while still 
careful of his dignity. It is interest- 
ing to note the Prince's daily life at 
Sandringham, his country seat, where 
he appears as a simple Squire. 

Saturday-to-Monday parties are 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 115 

frequent at Sandringham in the au- 
tumn when the shooting has begun ; 
and often seven or eight gentlemen ; 
a General, an Admiral, a Diplomat 
or two, with their wives, a foreign 
Prince or Nobleman, and possibly a 
Bishop, assemble on Friday evening. 
These with the household officers 
make up the party ; and gathered 
under the rose-shaded candles around 
the flower-laden table in the dining 
room they present a varied picture 
of gay and stern humanity. No 
sooner is the substantial dinner over 
than McKay, the Scotch piper, 
emerges from a neighbouring room 
and intones some wild Scotch air on 
his bag-pipes. In the evening the 
Prince and Princesss move from 
group to group in the drawing room, 
saying a few pleasant words to each 
of the guests, and then withdraw to 
their private apartments, while music 
by some famous pianist usually closes 
the evening. Baccarat is never 
played at Sandringham, and the 
smoking-room cohort breaks up 
early. Breakfast is served at half- 
after-nine (previous to which several 
gongs have sent their echoes loudly 
through the house) at small round 
tables in the dining room, and the 
meal must be quickly despatched, 
for at eleven the carriages start for 
the meeting-place, whether all the 



Il6 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

guests are ready or not. A four-horse 
drag carries eight or ten guests with 
their guns and game bags ; and an 
array of dog-carts, village-carts and 
various traps is at the disposal of the 
remaining visitors. A breezy morn- 
ing on. the moors is followed by a 
merry al-fresco meal in a tent, where 
curries from India await the Hindoo 
Maharajahs, and a juicy ham sent by 
the King of Portugal tempts the or- 
dinary appetite, while savoury Irish 
stews show the Hibernian sympa- 
thies of the Prince. The genial 
Host always rides a grey cob to and 
from the moors; at dusk the traps 
and drags again appear ; and the 
party, indulging in cigars and lively 
chat, returns gaily to the house. 
After a change of garments and a 
" tub," they are just in the mood to 
enjoy the comfort of the sitting room, 
where the charming Princess presides 
behind the tea tray, looking more 
like a sister of her three tall daugh- 
ters than anything else. No one, of 
course, really sits down to tea ; each 
one takes his cup and wanders 
through the rooms, stopping to listen 
for a moment to the piano, or to ad- 
mire the small green parrot who 
gives three very emphatic and loyal 
cheers for the Queen. When the 
guests finally leave this most hospit- 
able and royal house they are sure 



AS THE CROW FLTES. I 1 7 

to find among their luggage at the 
station a well-filled hamper of game. 
Another morning the Prince takes 
an early train to London, lays the 
corner stone of a Masonic asylum ; 
drives to a new hospital which he 
opens ; presides over a meeting of 
the British Bible Society ; and then 
attends a meeting at the Imperial 
Institute, finally returning to Sand- 
ringham by a late train. 

The hearty cheers which meet him 
in London on his way to and from 
the station are, if anything, more 
cordial than those which greet his 
Royal Mother on her drives through 
the town. 

Very little of the Prince's time is 
spent in amusing himself. He is at 
the nation's disposal, and the nation 
is a hard taskmaster. His is a 
difficult position to fill, and in the 
fierce, white light that beats upon a 
throne, his slightest actions are dis- 
torted. The present baccarat affair 
is a good illustration of the way in 
which the Prince's affairs are twisted 
to suit the scandal-loving readers of 
the Radical press ; but the storm of 
adverse criticism now raging around 
his head has already begun to create 
a reaction in his favour, and thought- 
ful people are commencing to ask 
themselves whether it is quite fair to 
shower so much abuse upon the Heir 



Il8 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

Apparent for what is admitted to be 
an error of judgment, but which 
amounts to nothing more. 

His attitude in this baccarat affair 
has been strictly honourable, although 
open to criticism. It may be worth 
while to analyze the charges against 
him. A slight examination will show 
the flimsy character of the founda- 
tion upon which they rest. In the 
first place, people are under the im- 
pression that the fact of his connec- 
tion in any way with the affair was 
disgraceful. This view of the case 
will hardly be accepted upon mature 
reflection. When the Prince ran 
down to Tranby Croft for a few 
days' rest, and in the evening sat 
down to a friendly game of baccarat, 
he never dreamed that one of his 
oldest friends would deliberately try 
to cheat him. With the fact of his 
playing cards for money the world 
has nothing to do. Each man must 
decide for himself whether games of 
chance when played for money are 
wrong or right. It may be claimed 
that the Prince was not a man, but a 
Personage ; but it is well to remem- 
ber that he played cards in his private 
capacity and not as Heir Apparent. 

The jury has decided that Sir 
William Gordon-Cumming did cheat 
at cards; and to any one knowing 
the game, his very feeble explana- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 119 



tion appears absurd ; while the fact 
that five witnesses saw him push his 
counters over the line to add to his 
stake at an improper time practically 
places the matter beyond dispute. 
The only fault that the Prince of 
Wales committed was one of kind- 
ness. He signed the paper, prepared 
by Lord Coventry and General Owen 
Williams, promising secrecy if Sir 
William would agree never to touch 
cards again. 

That is : he, a Field Marshal of 
the British Army, tacitly agreed to 
allow Sir William to remain in the 
Army and in his regiment while 
knowing that he had cheated at 
cards. His duty as an officer was to 
report Sir William's conduct at once 
to the Duke of Cambridge, the 
Commander-in-Chief, 

This he failed to do out of regard 
for his friend ; and for this he has 
been so bitterly attacked in the 
press ! Again, he has been criti- 
cised for his continued presence at 
the trial, where he came — it was sug- 
gested — for the purpose of muzzling 
eminent Counsel. Can any one fail 
to see what scorn and contempt the 
press would have poured out upon 
him had he failed to appear in per- 
son ? Every one would have said he 
was afraid to be present. 

No one recognizes more fully than 



120 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

the Prince himself that an error of 
judgment was committed when he 
condoned Sir William's offence ; and 
his recognition of this fact has been 
proved by the apology offered in his 
name by Mr. Stanhope, Secretary-of- 
State for War, in the House of Com- 
mons. All this talk and discussion 
in England is merely froth on the 
surface. The resolutions and strict- 
ures passed by various Dissenting 
bodies with much display of bad taste 
appear to be equally due to a desire 
on their part to condemn gambling in 
high places, and at the same time to 
draw public attention to themselves. 
The lower-middle class and the agri- 
cultural labourers, who compose the 
great bulk of the population of Eng- 
land, go placidly on their way, paying 
no attention to this noisy affair and 
only longing for their beef and beer. 

The upper-middle class is more 
deeply stirred ; for does it not count 
many a Mr. Pecksniff among its 
members, and are not Mr. Stiggins 
and Mr. Chadband to be met within 
its chaste and highly moral circles ? 

There is no doubt that the Prince 
will be decidedly more careful in 
future as to whom he admits to the 
honour of his acquaintance. This 
baccarat affair may cause him some 
slight temporary loss of popularity, 
but a generous fault often makes a 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 121 

man . more popular than a miserly 
virtue ; and the enthusiastic cheers 
which greeted the Prince at Ascot 
only a day or so ago are perhaps a 
better indication of what the people 
of England think of their future 
King's course in this matter. 

A significant fact is Mr. Glad- 
stone's loyal adherence to his Prince, 
and his stern discouragement of the 
intention of his unruly Radical col- 
leagues to attack the Prince in Par- 
liament. Mr. Labouchere, too, the 
cynical editor of the Radical Truth, 
as well as the Liberal Daily News, 
supports the Prince ; and the authors 
and literary men whom he has so 
often helped are rallying to his aid. 

The Prince of Wales, like every 
one, is mortal ; but far more than his 
great-uncle, King George IV., does 
he deserve his well-earned title of 
" The First Gentleman in Europe." 




THE LATTER-DAY JACOBITES 

>HARING CROSS.— A few 
years ago Mr. Gladstone 
brought down upon him- 
self a perfect hailstorm 
of remonstrance, re- 
proach and denial by a statement in a 
public letter, to a candidate for Par- 
liamentary honours in the Liberal 
interest. This statement was to the 
effect that no one ever now dreamed 
of objecting to the Revolution of 
1688, and its results. Previous to 
this, the great majority of English 
and Americans had thought the cause 
of the . Stuarts forever dead ; and 
that a romantic interest — chiefly 
historical — alone remained of the in- 
tense devotion shown to that fated 
family in the unsuccessful risings of 
1 7 15 and 1745. But the great ma- 
jority was undeceived upon the ap- 
pearance of Mr. Gladstone's letter, 
and learned with a degree of sympa- 
thetic amazement that there existed 
in Great Britain two " Orders" or 
" Leagues," both aiming at the return 
and recall of the heiress of the Stu- 
arts, to the throne of her ancestors. 
One of these, the " Order of the 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 123 

White Rose," was merely platonic and 
existed to gratify a passion for his- 
torical romance on the part of its 
members. Its principal object was to 
hold meetings on the anniversary of 
the death of Mary Queen of Scots, 
King Charles L, and the battle of 
Culloden — the battle that proved 
the death-blow to the cause of the 
gallant young " Pretender." I say 
its object " was," advisedly ; for the 
stupid action of the powers that be,, 
on a certain day in February last 
(1892), has changed its somewhat 
lukewarm hero-worship to working 
zeal, and has brought it into closer 
relations with the other association : 
the " Legitimist Jacobite League," 
This society makes no secret of 
the fact that it meditates treason. 
Its avowed purpose is to restore the 
Stuarts; and on its books appear 
the names of seven thousand people 
devoted to its cause. Most of these 
rebels in embryo hail from the High- 
lands, where the old loyalty to the 
Stuarts still exists, and where the 
last desperate stand was made 
against the bloodhounds of the 
butcher-Duke of Cumberland. 

This League always refers to Her 
Majesty as " The Lady Victoria " and 
recognizes as Queen the heiress of the 
Stuarts — the wife of the oldest son of 
the Prince Regent of Bavaria. 



124 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

It would be interesting to digress 
here and wander in the fascinating 
paths of the genealogy and descent 
of the Stuarts ; but it would fill col- 
umns. However, the Order of the 
White Rose and the Jacobite League 
are satisfied with the descent of the 
Princess, and they are the ones'chiefly 
concerned. Lest my information be 
considered apocryphal, I may say 
that all my statements have been 
verified by a member of the Order. 
Lately the League has turned its 
attention to Parliamentary matters, 
and although the members consider 
that the last legal Parliament was 
held when King James II. was 
cheated out of his throne by his 
Dutch son-in-law, they are not above 
agitating in a constitutional way, and 
have secured several Legitimist can- 
didates to stand at the general elec- 
tion. So to sum up in a few words : 
Before last February there existed in 
Great Britain two associations each 
looking upon the present Royal Fam- 
ily as usurpers, and each devoted to 
the Stuart cause ; one theoretically, 
the other practically. Both these 
associations had existed since the 
rising of 1745, but in a more or less 
chrysalis condition until Mr. Glad- 
stone's letter aroused them to de- 
clare themselves, when they were 
amazed at the adherents that poured 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 



in from all over the United King- 
dom — principally from Scotland and 
Ireland, many from England, but not 
one from Wales. 

Some of these recruits were ani- 
mated simply by a desire for some- 
thing new and were people who are 
never happy unless in pursuit of 
some interesting fad ; but the ma- 
jority consisted of those whose an- 
cestors had fought either at Killie- 
krankie, at Culloden or at Preston 
Pans. There is more or less mys- 
tery as to the attitude assumed by 
the object of all these hopes. But 
she is believed to take up a position 
of inocuous desuetude, so to speak. 
That is, if the royal lightning should 
strike her, she would, like Barkis, 
" be willin' ; " but until the Jacobite 
thunderstorm gathers, and the White 
Rose lightning illumines the polit- 
ical sky, she bides her time. For 
Bavaria is at peace with England. 
A glimpse at the incident of last 
February before referred to and an- 
other which happened a short time 
before, may be instructive. Every- 
one knows the statue of King 
Charles the First, which stands at 
Charing Cross. The Order of the 
White Rose had decided to decorate 
this statue of the King upon the anni- 
versary of his martyrdom, and about 
three o'clock in the morning a small 



126 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

band of zealous Jacobites, with 
wreaths of white roses, gathered 
near the statue — as on Primrose Day 
the Conservatives gather to cover 
the statue of the great Earl with 
primroses — but to their annoyed sur- 
prise a surly policeman was stationed 
there who told them gruffly to " move 
on" — that no decorations would be 
allowed on or near the statue. Many 
were the murmurs and loud the 
remonstrances, but both were un- 
availing, until one of the party sar- 
castically inquired if they might 
leave the wreaths at the foot of the 
statue of George III. hard by. No 
objection was made to this (mark the 
distinction drawn ! ) but the Legiti- 
mist sympathizers preferred to carry 
their wreaths away as souvenirs, and 
moved on with many muttered obser- 
vations on the " Hanoverian pack," 
hated of their fathers. Several of 
the papers referred to this peculiar 
action of the authorities with ridicule, 
and blamed the Home Secretary for 
giving an unnecessary prominence 
to the lately resuscitated party. 
This was the first thing which quick- 
ened the lukewarm zeal of the Order 
while it inflamed the ardour of the 
League. The next blunder of the 
authorities was more serious, and to 
this may be ascribed the Stuart re- 
vival. Of this incident I was fortu- 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 127 

nate enough to be an eye witness. 
I had happened to see a paragraph 
in an obscure little evening paper on 
the seventh of February to the ef- 
fect that as the next day was the 
anniversary of the death of Mary 
Queen of Scots, the Order of the 
White Rose would form a proces- 
sion in Westminster Abbey to lay a 
wreath upon her tomb. The Jacob- 
ite League was not mentioned, but, 
as events proved, many of its mem- 
bers had learned of the purpose of 
the Order and had arranged to be 
present. Mindful of the refusal to 
allow the Order to decorate King 
Charles's statue, and yet hardly 
thinking that any opposition would 
be offered to the attempt to honour 
the memory of the unfortunate 
Queen, especially as on that day 
the Chapels Royal were opened to 
the public, I arrived early at the 
Abbey and as soon as I entered 
could see that something unusual 
was in the air. Small knots of peo- 
ple were whispering in the nave, 
and excited vergers bustled about, 
dropping their h's all over the Abbey. 
The daily afternoon service was to 
commence at half-past three, so 
there was some anxiety to get the 
function over. 

The Marquis de Ruvigny — a name 
familiar to all versed in the history 



T28 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

of the Stuart cause — and Mr. Clifford 
Mellish were waiting at the door for 
the arrival of the wreaths, when the 
appearance of a score of stalwart 
police-constables created some sur- 
prise. The majority of the strangers 
present (there were about six hun- 
dred) had evidently come for the 
ceremony of placing the wreaths on 
Queen Mary's tomb and were wait- 
ing silently and reverently until 
everything should be ready. For- 
tunately, as we all thought, the day 
was one when the royal tombs were 
open to visitors ; but soon an omiu- 
ous murmur arose that the gates 
leading to the chapels where the 
royal tombs were had been closed. 
The Marquis de Ruvigny indignantly 
refused to believe that such a betise 
was possible on the part of the Dean ; 
but a surging of the now increasing 
crowd towards the chapels showed 
that the gates were secured. 

Then in no measured terms the 
disgust and anger of the Jacobites 
broke forth : " Intolerable Stupid- 
ity!" "Afraid of the consequences!" 
" Absurd ! " " Idiotic ! " were some 
of the expressions used. But one 
braw Scotchman summed up the situ- 
ation in a few words : " The govern- 
ment has turned a romantic pilgrim- 
age into real treason, and has raised 
us to the dignity of a political party." 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 12C) 



The leaders now got together near 
the gates and talked earnestly while 
waiting for the wreaths to come. I 
was curious as to the effect of the 
closing of the gates on the British 
public in general, and wandered 
through the Abbey, catching ex- 
pressions here and there. " It's a 
perfect shame," exclaimed a rosy- 
cheeked vicar evidently just up from 
the country. "It makes me sym- 
patize with the Jacobites — the idea 
of depriving Englishmen of their 
right of free assembly." And a stout 
old gentleman near him, who was evi- 
dently something in the city, turned 
with the plaint : " My ancestors 
lent King George the First money, 
and I have always been a staunch 
Hanoverian ; but by Jove this is 
too much. Do you suppose if these 
people wished to decorate the tomb 
of George III. or of Dutch William 
they would be stopped?" And 
many more spoke to the same effect. 
The impression made on the gen- 
eral public present was evidently bad. 
But the sight of a well-known figure 
pacing up the nave suggested Arch- 
deacon Farrar, and it was indeed he. 
Soon the leaders of the abortive pro- 
cession spied him and entered into 
eager expostulation, but all to no 
purpose. Dean Bradley was in Al- 
giers, and the Canon-in-residence for 



130 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

the time being (Canon Ainger) had 
decided to close the Chapels Royal. 
He could not interfere. But then 
the large wreath appeared, a beauti- 
ful affair of white roses and camel- 
lias, and it was hastily decided to 
affix it to the gates leading to the 
royal tombs. Then a short, stout 
man with sandy hair and beard 
pressed forward, eager to take it. 

" My grandfather, Robbie Ander- 
son, led the way for Prince Charlie 
at the Battle of Preston Pans and 
I'll be proud to lead ye now," he 
said. A scarcely suppressed cheer 
broke forth as the wreath was placed 
on the gates, in which those of us 
who claimed a touch of the old 
Scotch Cavalier blood joined. A 
card was attached, and by general 
request the descendant of Robbie 
Anderson read it aloud. I after- 
wards copied it : 

" In memory of Mary, Queen of 
Great Britain, France and Scotland. 
Presented by the Legitimist (Jacob- 
ite) League. February 8th, 1892." 

Then as the inspectors from Scot- 
land Yard drew nearer, a red-faced 
verger bustled through the crowd up 
to the gates and pointing to the 
wreath exclaimed, " Take that thing 
down ! " This gave rise to murmurs 
of remonstrance and indignation and 
the Marquis de Ruvigny spoke for all : 



AS THE CROW FLIES. 131 

" I decline," said the Marquis, "to 
touch that wreath. Take it down 
yourself." But this the verger had 
no orders to do, and retreated in dis- 
comfiture. Then it was proposed to 
hold a meeting in Deans' Yard to 
protest, but Mr. Stuart Mellor very 
sensibly observed that it would do 
no good to be arrested for brawling, 
and that public opinion would know 
what to think. And as most of the 
Jacobites present were Catholics this 
exclamation of one of them was to the 
point and caused a quick clearance : 

" I say, if we don't look sharp, we 
shall be in a Protestant place of 
wash-up at time of service." And 
so the crowd faded gradually away, 
and what but for the tact of the 
leaders might have turned into a 
" demonstration " in the Abbey, was 
safely over. But the moral effect of 
the gathering and the severe measures 
used by the authorities has not yet 
died away, and many Englishmen 
who cared little for the Stuarts have 
joined the Order or the League as pro- 
test against this act of the govern- 
ment. The Dean, I believe, refers 
the matter to the Bishop of London, 
and he mentions the Ecclesiastical 
Commissioners more or less vaguely. 
It is difficult, therefore, to fit the 
blame. But there is no doubt that 
this incident has given renewed force 



132 AS THE CROW FLIES. 

to the Jacobite cause. Their Parlia- 
mentary candidates are busy, and the 
coming general election will afford a 
practical test of their strength with 
the common people. There is no 
doubt that in Ireland they could se- 
cure many seats if they tried, for the 
Irishmen of the south still remember 
the Battle of the Boyne. 

Sensible people all around regret 
the blunder of the government, and 
as usual H.R.H., the Prince of Wales, 
voiced the universal sentiment when 
he declared the suppression of the 
pilgrimage a shame. 

"Why," said he, "I would have 
gone with them myself, and would 
have worn a white rose, too, if they 
had asked me." 

And no doubt if the Canon-in-resi- 
dence, or the Dean of Westminster, or 
the Bishop of London, or the Eccle- 
siastical Commissioners, or who- 
ever was responsible, had acted in 
this sensible, unprejudiced way, the 
incident would have closed and peo- 
ple would have smiled at the archaeo- 
logical enthusiasm of the Jacobites, 
instead of thinking them hardly used, 
and, ergo, sympathizing with them. 



